When we first brought our giant German Shepherd, Rodney, home back in August, he made it clear that he’s not one who’s inclined to just sit around and look pretty. He’s full of energy. You can see it his eyes. You can see it in his muscles. He never misses anything. He’s alert all the time and spoiling for action.
My wife and I try to wear him out as much possible. When she’s not taking him for his twice-a-day trek all over town, I play fetch with him in the green expanse of our back yard. He’d go for hours if my arm would only hold out that long.
One of Rodney’s favorite things to run-down is a frisbee. I got one for him soon after he came to live with us. It was quite a hit.
The one I chose for him is meant especially for dogs. It’s made of thicker plastic than regular frisbees and has a donut-like hole in the middle to make it easier for dogs to pick up.
We were happy with the frisbee. Rodney used to love sticking his snout in the center of it, then flipping it over on his face so he could see and running it back to me.
He was, to my mind, a frisbee dog.
However, a few weeks ago, that changed. My wife brought home the most annoying dog toy known to man.
It’s called the Wubba. Don’t ask me why it’s called that. As far as I can tell, it just is.
Anyway, it’s a chew toy, a tug toy and a squeaky toy all wrapped up into one.
Rodney hasn’t had his very long but it has already seen better days. The heavy duty mesh cloth has been ripped open, causing the tennis ball that was once wrapped atop the squeaky toy to go missing. No matter. Rodney loves his Wubba.
He runs through the house, shaking his head so that its tails whip back and forth over his face, his powerful jaws constantly making it squeak. After a while, though, the noise he makes with it sends shivers down my spine. He may think it’s the greatest thing going but the constant squeaking is more like finger nails scrapped down a chalkboard to me. I have to hide it from him to get a little peace and quiet. But, if he had his way, he’d never be without it.
I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that our dog is no longer a frisbee dog. Sure, I can still get his attention when I pick up the frisbee. He’ll even drop the Wubba to the ground when I start to throw it. But he’s just teasing me.
He’ll watch me throw the frisbee. He’ll watch it sail through the air. He’ll even keep an eye on it as it comes to a nice, soft landing. Then, he’ll scoop the Wubba up in his mouth and bound up to me with a maniacal look in his eye that says “I’d rather you throw this! Right now! Throw this! Right now! Right now! Right now!”
He’s become a Wubba dog. Any doubt of that was dispelled today when he did what dogs do when they mark their territory.
He lifted his leg and peed on it.