We were outside in the backyard hanging out when Betty decided to grab a rock.
“Chase me,” she said as she fired her Cute Ray directly at me. “Think about how much fun we’ll have,” she whispered as she did a small hop with her front legs, flicked her head to one side, and tossed the rock straight up.
My resistance was crumbling, but then a small noise came from the front yard. It was Betty’s new friend the postal carrier. Betty raced around to the front and engaged in a prolonged greeting session with this friend. I was left dumped in the backyard. All I could do was to mope and kick the rock under the deck.
Betty’s favorite game is keep away, and she prefers to play the game with a forbidden object. If we are playing with a toy and she drops it on the sly to pick up a rock, then I stop playing. Ingrained basset hound stubbornness means that Betty hasn’t yet given up on her little trick. It is a battle of wills.
Sometimes Betty gets lucky and forces me to chase her while she has a forbidden object. Betty was running around with a permitted object (a ball) when she did a basset hound face-plant and her collar came off. Betty loves to chew up her collar and she knows we don’t want her to do that. Betty dropped the ball, grabbed the collar, and the game was on. She is pretty nimble for a basset hound. I chased her around the bushes and tried all kinds of tricks and turns as she jumped around in joy and taunted me continuously. The nudist in her was showing.
I’m an old man and I couldn’t keep up the intensity of the chase. I needed a new plan. Then I remembered Betty’s major weakness. I limped around the house to the back door pretending defeat. Betty followed running around in circles with the collar in her mouth and mocking me. I got to the back door, opened it, and went inside to get the one thing that would guarantee victory: a doggie treat. I came back outside and crouched down on the patio holding the treat just out of Betty’s reach. She dropped the collar and looked at it, looked at the treat, looked at the collar again, and then looked at me in dismay. It was time for Betty’s Big Decision. The decision was preordained of course. Betty lunged at the treat, I grabbed the collar, and victory was mine. It wasn’t even one of her favorite treats.
Betty was pissed and she mopped around in the backyard for awhile. I couldn’t help but rub it in by doing a little gloating victory dance on the patio. Maybe that was a bad idea. I’m not looking forward to Betty’s revenge.