Nevermind. She Doesn’t Care.
I was wrong. The BDD* does not miss the purple ball. She did not even try to look for it. I think she realized when I snagged it yesterday it was a goner. As she’d already chewed the heartbeat out of the thing.
When I got home, I followed her into the yard and the first thing she did was pick up the rope toy. Nope. Doesn’t miss the ball. Instead, she’s hurdling herself through the yard at the speed of a Thoroughbred on Derby Day.
Look at those feet. Gallop – Gallop – Gallop – Gallop.
We repeated the tossing as she never grows tired of it. Luckily, I never grow tired of seeing her ears flop as she runs back to me. Such pretty [useless] ears. I love them.
You see those teeth? That is why dog toys die in our house.
“Don’t mind me, Food Lady. Just stand there and wait while I nomnomnomnomnomnom…”
Now this is no ordinary rope toy. It has a handle on one end for a human hand [but I have no intention of putting my hand it because she’s likely to rip my arm from my shoulder] and a tug on the other end for the doggin’s mouth. In the middle is a HUGE ball of rope. And that’s why I bought it. Because Chevy flings her toys (ropes or not) and I thought if she had a hard rope ball pounding her in the side of her face, she’d stop. Ugh. Wrong again.
She learned from the best: Chase. Chase had to find a way to steal things from the big dogs she grew up around (a pitbull x boxer named Sarah). Her quickness was helpful but she’d shake that head of hers to wiggle the toy from her combatant’s mouth and make a mad dash. She did this with Chevy as a pup. And Chevy does it now. And she’s rough. Really rough. I make her drop the ball before I even touch it because one touch and POW! you’re jerked forward with the force of a thousand winds.
Want to see it? Thought so.
First, the BDD gets a nice good grip on the toy (in this case, the big ass rope toy).
And then she flicks her oversized mug as hard as she can to the right, whipping with all the might she has.
And then her inertia carries her to the left, where she shakes with the her dragonborn fury. Her ears fly in all directions, her toy… steer clear of this toy or you’re bound to get a bruise on the shin.
And we’re back to the right with a vengeance. Growling let’s that toy know who’s boss. Deep, burly growls that she can’t hear.
The BDD does this with every. single. toy. Ball, rope, bone… she let’s them know what’s going on. She has won tugging matches with grown men. This dog is a demon to be reckoned with when it comes to playing. She’s super good at snuggling though [if you don’t mind sharing the bed with a dog the size of the average third grader].
Yeah, so she’s over the loss of her purple ball. I guess as long as she has something to play with, she doesn’t care. After this one bites the dust you’ll probably see the hubs and I battling it out in Feeder’s Supply, trying to find a toy that can withstand our strength. And then we’ll see if it’s BDD approved.
*BDD stands for Big Deaf Dog. She tips the scales at 70 pounds and is completely deaf. BDD is fitting. And she can’t hear it anyway so it doesn’t matter. I could call her Craptastic and she’d still wag her massive beer-tipping tail at me. But I love her.