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Sometimes on Sunday we pause and we reflect on the lord and what is most important in our lives.
And we briefly curse the long armed ones for focusing primarily on the laundry instead of lobbing our precious Squeaker Toy and we wait and we wait and we stare and we stare and we stare until one of the long armed ones says "look he reminds me of Anthony Hopkins in Magic" and then instead of growling or charging or snapping we sit and we wait more whilst keeping in mind that They Know Not What They Do and then we go outside and we make a pee pee.
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In our house, we torture the furry ones with the tennis ball. One of them and I don't want to hurt any feelings, so I won't name names, Bella, is a little OCD about her ball. After many, many throws, we have to pretend to throw it, but then hide it under our clothes. The OCD dog then spends the rest of her time, sniffing the yard.
We are water boarders of the very worst kind.
Oh my god that is HILARIOUS. It's like we are David Copperfield and our sweet little hounds are the hapless audience. I can TOTALLY picture the hiding under the clothes trick.
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