Our dog Piper takes off at a full sprint and launches herself off the backyard berm when I throw it. She tucks all four legs tightly under her, stowing them for flight the way a plane retracts its wheels. Sailing into the ivy she wrangles the blue ball from the vines, shakes it a bit and trots back to me.
If due to my tiring arm, the ball bounces before the berm, Piper rears back onto two legs and corrals it with her chest, like a soccer player.
When she is tired, she will leave the zone of play and hide her ball in the forsythia and chew on the branches.
I never had a dog who chased balls. Maybe that is why I am so willing to indulge her. I’ve learned all sorts of different ways to throw the ball so as to not wear out my arm too quickly. I use my left hand, which had a high learning curve. A few throws ended up on the roof. Now Piper thinks the roof spits balls off at its whim.
You rock, girl!
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