Big Dogs Like Big Sticks
I’m two years old. I’m big dog now. Sometimes Mom doesn’t bring my balls down to our beach. She says I get too ball-obsessed, what ever that means.
“You need to entertain yourself without the ball sometimes,” she says.
Today we walk a block from the house to our beach. Mom releases me when we get to the stairs. Sometimes I have to walk with Mom slow, slow down the stairs. This is animal abuse. I like running free down the stairs, but I have to be a good boy and help her when she needs me. I have a very important job. When Mom falls, I run to help her stand up. Then, people watching tell me I’m a good boy.
I hear the word “release” at the top of the stairs. Mom starts talking to Francine and her dog, Pruddy. Those girls talk and talk. Heck, my beach time comes first, Mom. I was such a good boy waiting while you swam this morning at the pool, now it’s Bud’s playtime. I run down the stairs and find the big stick that I played with yesterday. It has my scent. I dig it up, then carry it back up the steps to walk with Mom. Hurry up, Mom. Time’s a-wastin’.
I like big sticks, the bigger the better. I drag them down the beach and try to ask people throw them for me.
“That’s not a big stick. That’s a log. We can’t lift it or throw it in the air, Bud. You sure are a big boy,” they say.
Sister Jetta gets little sticks. She is an old girl now, but I am a big strong boy. I find big logs on the beach. I dig and dig around them until I get all of it dug up. Fun, fun. But, this time the hole has gotten so big that I can’t lift the big stick out. I’ll just keep digging all around it. People stop to look at my great big hole. It’s a big boy hole. I’m such a big strong dog.
Mom’s on the move again. I need to go with her. I’ll find another stick on the way. We walk and walk. One stick is to skinny, one stick is too short. I see a perfect stick by a chair and a man sitting next to it. I grab the stick in my mouth and try to follow Mom. What’s happening? The man is chasing me and waving his hand in the air for me to stop.
Mom stops and wonders why the man is chasing Bud down the beach. The man says that my stick was propping up his chair. But this is my beach. All sticks are for me.
Mom says, “Sorry Buddy, you need to let the man have his stick back. We are heading home anyway, and tomorrow is another day.”
We walk back to the stairs. I drag my big stick from my big hole and start up the stairs with my big perfect stick. Mom looks back to see me trying to get the big stick up the stairs. I got it, Mom. I want to bring it home.
Mom is laughing. I got my big stick up the stairs, but it keeps slipping out of my mouth. I carry it by a big knot on the side. I keep dropping it in the street.
Mom says “No, Buddy, this will cause a car crash if you leave it in the road. Our neighbor, Barbara, is in her front yard watering her garden. She looks at the big stick in the road.
“Oh, Buddy, why don’t you put that big stick in my yard right next to the street, but not in the street, so you can see it everyday.”
Well, I guess if I can’t get it home, it will safe here. Thank you, nice neighbor. I’m one tired and happy big-stick dog.