Everyone has preferences. Preferences in play, preferences in rewards, in people for friends, in what’s comfortable to sleep on, in things to chew up or retrieve or retrieve and chew up.
Obe the Dobie likes sticks. He likes them a lot. He likes finding them from the favorite fallen poplar tree down the road and carrying them back and then playing fetch with them and best of all, if I’d let him, bringing them in to chew up. Sticks are the reason he is now wading through spring melt ditch streams – water is fine with a stick in it.
He likes perusing the options. Sometimes picking one up, then deciding maybe there’s something better on the other side of the road.
Then, once he has the one he wants, to truck on back to the yard to play with it. I mean there is no reason to waste any more time dawdling. Get a move on…its stick-time.
There are a row of sticks on a shelf outside the door that didn’t get in. There are sticks balanced in the apple tree branches as extra fetch items, just in case.
As you may have surmised the size of the sticks is enlarging and the stick quality is declining. He’s been picking out the best ones each time, the not-so-good ones are starting to be the ones left. There is a large branch with a lovely broken section that he has tried to hoist several times, but alas it is too large. Oh the promise of delicious delight thwarted.