Friday, January 29, 2010
(get's that from his mom) and the energy level of a terrier (his dad). But he's smart as...well, a Golden Retriever.
"Oliver, go get your ball."
He knows what this means.
"Go get it!"
He runs out of the room. A man on a mission.
Chomp, chomp, chomp.
He wanders back in. Says hello. Burps.
"Oliver. Go. Get. Your. Ball."
Oh yeah. Runs out. Slides on the hardwood.
Shlurp, shlurp, shlurp, shlurp.
All that thinkin' made him thirsty. He trots in.
"Hey. I said I need that ball. GO GET THAT BALL! I mean your ball, go get YOUR ball."
He runs around the apartment, up and down the stairs, and back into the room.
Oh, yeah. Runs out. Brings Christmas Bear held oh-so-gingerly by the bear's pom-pom nose.
"That is not your BALL."
"Ball! Ball! Ball! Go get your BAAAALLLLL!!!" (not crazy. encouraging. there's a difference)
Finally! He finds the ball in his toy basket. I pat myself on the back. Sometimes it just takes a little craz....uh, encouragement.