He’s quite a smart cookie.
You remember that we go to the veld for a weekend walks on Saturdays and Sundays?
And yes – it’s not very wild and wooly now since they’ve paved paths and bricked up the river but we still call it the veld anyway.
If I detour off the pathway, which, lets furry face it I only use to piddle on – much to mom’s disgust – then I still get to do some bundu bashing and have been known to pick up the odd tick or two.
The whole point of our walk is to get to the top of the hill and play ball.
Of course, I do enjoy all the weemailing and sniffing the odd butt or two myself.
Although frankly, I’m really not fond of my own butt being bothered by strange mutts.
I think this way of meeting and greeting is vastly overrated.
When we get to the little bridge I pick up my pace a tad.
Well… I pick it up quite a lot.
In fact I have been known to charge up that hill before.
Mom has words with me, so I end up doing a fair bit of running and stopping.
Or running up and looping back down to where my laggardly humans are still plodding up the hill.
If Alpha spots another dog on a leash he leashes me up too – which spoils the fun completely.
Patience people… I’m still getting to the part where Alpha is a smarty pants.
When we get to the top of the hill – I start to run into the veld.
I charge off in the direction that Alpha usually throws my ball.
This way I can almost catch the ball instead of running after it.
This week Alpha wised up to my sneaky moves.
He called me but my ears were not listening.
So he called me again in his gruff growly voice.
My ears listened. My feet stopped.
I turned around to check out what his problem was.
My woggledy whiskers!
Alpha was showing me that he was going to throw the ball in a completely different direction.
I wheeled around and charged off after it.
Then that sneaky weasel smarty pants threw the ball exactly where he usually throws it.
* As told to Ginny Stone
