Offerings to the Gods of the Field
May. 13th, 2009 07:38 amWell, as I'd said in yesterday's post, I took Mali up to The Field yesterday evening for a run proper. This isn't quite as regular an occurrence as the hound would like, but he only has himself to blame in this respect.
Let me 'splain...+
Mali's a ball-orientated dog. With certain stipulations. Well, actually, just one stipulation: he loves chasing/catching/playing with balls, provided that they belong to somebody else.
The pack at the Field (both the human and canine groupings) are a pretty good bunch, so it's not that terminal when Mali chases after Charlie's ball, grabs it (that dog is quick) and then plays keep-away (I will lounge insouciantly here, at just-beyond-arm's-reach) whilst he systematically destroys said spherical plaything. However, it does get more than a little embarrassing - especially when repeated coaxing by me with his own ball (69p Wilkinson special: no expense spared here, more or this later), assorted treats and even water completely fails to retrieve her ball, which by this stage is usually in kit form.
So, following the principle of controlling the dog's actions by managing his environment, we tend not to go up to the Field so often, and spend more time perambulating about the Avenues instead.
However, when we do venture up to the Field, I tend to take a ball or two, because if his friends aren't there, then Mali will deign to play awhile with me. The point, here, though (and now we get to the post's title) is that I usually return from the field with fewer dog toys than I arrive with.
Quite why this should be the case isn't immediately apparent.
Obviously, you soon learn not to hurl the ball for Mali to chase into the overgrown thickets that form the boundary. And then there's the fenced off railway embankment that has proved to be the resting place for more than a few misplaced throws. But there's something about the way that perfectly bright red, yellow and blue balls can simply vanish at that place...
To offset this, then, us Field regulars (it's not just me who's noticed this anomaly), tend to stock up on projectiles, the favoured source being Wilkinson's in town, who do a belled, studded ball at 69p. I tend to buy them six or seven at a time, trying not to look too shifty at the checkout (you can see the gears whirring in the operator as they scan them through), knowing that in a month or two's time I'll be back there having to replace them all.
On the whole, though, I think that these offerings, if they placate the Gods of the Field enough to allow Mali and I to continue to run* there on occasion, well then, I think that they're a tribute of fair value.
+ if you cannot place that quote, I will dock House Points
* well, technically, he runs and I amble, but YKWIM
Let me 'splain...+
Mali's a ball-orientated dog. With certain stipulations. Well, actually, just one stipulation: he loves chasing/catching/playing with balls, provided that they belong to somebody else.
The pack at the Field (both the human and canine groupings) are a pretty good bunch, so it's not that terminal when Mali chases after Charlie's ball, grabs it (that dog is quick) and then plays keep-away (I will lounge insouciantly here, at just-beyond-arm's-reach) whilst he systematically destroys said spherical plaything. However, it does get more than a little embarrassing - especially when repeated coaxing by me with his own ball (69p Wilkinson special: no expense spared here, more or this later), assorted treats and even water completely fails to retrieve her ball, which by this stage is usually in kit form.
So, following the principle of controlling the dog's actions by managing his environment, we tend not to go up to the Field so often, and spend more time perambulating about the Avenues instead.
However, when we do venture up to the Field, I tend to take a ball or two, because if his friends aren't there, then Mali will deign to play awhile with me. The point, here, though (and now we get to the post's title) is that I usually return from the field with fewer dog toys than I arrive with.
Quite why this should be the case isn't immediately apparent.
Obviously, you soon learn not to hurl the ball for Mali to chase into the overgrown thickets that form the boundary. And then there's the fenced off railway embankment that has proved to be the resting place for more than a few misplaced throws. But there's something about the way that perfectly bright red, yellow and blue balls can simply vanish at that place...
To offset this, then, us Field regulars (it's not just me who's noticed this anomaly), tend to stock up on projectiles, the favoured source being Wilkinson's in town, who do a belled, studded ball at 69p. I tend to buy them six or seven at a time, trying not to look too shifty at the checkout (you can see the gears whirring in the operator as they scan them through), knowing that in a month or two's time I'll be back there having to replace them all.
On the whole, though, I think that these offerings, if they placate the Gods of the Field enough to allow Mali and I to continue to run* there on occasion, well then, I think that they're a tribute of fair value.
+ if you cannot place that quote, I will dock House Points
* well, technically, he runs and I amble, but YKWIM
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