To you, a tennis ball might be a lowly object, a cheap amalgamation of rubber and fuzz, easily substituted by an exact replica and easily discarded. But to me, a tennis ball keeps chaos at bay. A house without a tennis ball is a house with a raging Gordon Setter puppy mouth, happy to fill itself with any chewable or non-chewable object: table ends, underwear, kleenex (preferably used), tea bag remnants, any kitchen item including metal forks and knives, student papers, notebooks, and so on.
Thankfully I’ve found that the lowly tennis ball is a wonderful substitute for Gael’s need to chew. Once her mouth is full of rubber fuzz, she seems content to use her energy in other ways:
These “other ways” usually consist of running in huge circles and playing keep away from the other dogs, since Rozzie is also a tennis ball fanatic:
The greatest value of the tennis ball comes in the evening around 7pm, which I’ve come to see at Gael’s witching hour. When I’m just settling down to dinner and a relaxing time watching TV or reading a book, Gael is winding up for a final harrah of the day. A tennis ball in the house and a final run in the pasture seem to make this last burst of setter energy liveable. Without these two strategies, I couldn’t imagine the state of my house or my mind in this 9th month of Gael’s existence.



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