We have one such Retriever. TWO, to be exact, and they definitely live up to their name.
One, aforementioned Retriever, MUST retrieve continually, or he starts to wither, and I believe he thinks he'll die.
Unfortunately, he doesn't realize that the actual process of retrieving is what's going to kill him.
The weather around here has been a bit dreary. Mostly rain. Which, by the way, doesn't bother me in the least. Especially the rain that accompanies thunder and lightning. In my opinion, just open the windows and enjoy the light show. Drink in the sounds. (Did I ever tell you that I birthed a baby to a CD of thunder storms? Yeah, love the stuff that much.)
Dogs, on the other hand, do NOT like storms, and truly wish they were humans so they could live in the house and bury themselves under the covers. At least, my dogs do. Cooper especially. But I'm thinking that the real reason he doesn't like storms is because humans don't generally run around in them.
Which, in turn means: NO FETCH.
No fetch days are perfectly horrid to witness, as my dog looks so pitiful, you think he must be praying for God to take him home. You know, to that great doggy home in the sky, where there are endless fire hydrants for all, and a personal angel who only stops throwing balls when you sleep. He wants to go there so bad.
Except for when we attempt to leave the house. Then he wants to be right here, with you throwing the ball. Heaven can wait.
The other day, amidst the spats of storms, we decided to go out on the porch and enjoy the nice-ness of being outside. It wasn't too hot, nor cold, and the sky didn't look so ominous, so we hung out on the porch for a bit. Asher was enjoying his new found baby porch swing, and Cooper was enjoying the tennis ball that Caleb was throwing to him.
Cassie was enjoying trying to outmaneuver Coop.
And this is where the trouble starts.
Cassie does not run quite as fast as Cooper, and so he always gets the ball. So, like most baby sisters, she tries to be a pest, and likes to grab onto his ear while he's fetching. It's actually quite a sight to see: Here's Cooper running pell-mell for the ball, and there's Cassie holding onto his ear and running right beside him. Strangest thing, I tell ya. Funny too.
But this day, her antics must've distracted him enough for her to finally get the elusive ball. And MAN was she proud of herself! So proud, in fact, that she promptly scooted under the van with the reward and gloated.
Because she knows that Coop's too big to get under there.
WOW, this really drove him nuts. We watched him for a while, dancing around the van. He would duck and try to squeeze his head under there, but with the running boards, there was just no way.
So he pleaded and cried and begged Cassie to come out and share, but she just lolled in the beauty of having that ball (not to mention the shelter from any rain) in a place where he couldn't overpower her. When we finally left to go inside, he was sitting and staring at the underside of my van, praying. Not for God to take him home, but for God to take her.
Every day when Chris comes home, the dogs are conscientious to greet him. I dare say that it doesn't matter what they're doing, they will stop and run to his car and maul him as he gets out. You see, he's never too tired to play fetch for at least a couple throws. And the dogs think that he's going to be one of those angels in the afterlife. He's their best friend.
But this day, only Cassie came to the car. "Strange," Chris thought. But he just dismissed it and decided that Coop must be sleeping under the porch or something. He didn't hear the faint whining.
Later on, when he was out refilling our birdfeeder, he COULD hear the whining. So he calls the dog.......more whining.
Come to find out, that crazy dog did it. He got under the van. He got that ball. But he couldn't get out.
Picture it if you will: A beefy, categorically large, 2 year old Labrador RETRIEVER, under a factory specified, low-profile van.
Yeah, Cooper didn't know his legs could do a split that far.
He was perfectly squashed under there, to the point where he could not get out. Chris would go to a different side and call him, only to see him army crawl until he hit a muffler or something. No matter how you looked at it, the dog was a stuck duck.
There was only one thing left to do.
Get the jack.
Thankfully, no one tried to drive the van while he was under there. He definitely would've been hurt badly, if not killed. And we would've lost the best dog ever. And to that end, I have this to say:
(Hitting palm to forehead) For the love of fetch, Cooper! Don't kill yourself!