Toy Basket

When Murph was a pup she loved her toys.  Then she became fixated on tennis balls and her toys, while important, were not as functional to her as yellow balls in various states of water logged or fading.  However, when we moved from New York, her tennis ball addiction did not prevent her from making sure all the toys moved.  Every night in hotels across America, Murph had to have her deflated volley ball next to her.  A piece of home.

Sage, on the other hand, loves her toys.  I have a basket full of toys.  Last night, I sat down with her to explore what is in the basket.  She was at full attention, wondering, I suspect, what I was doing rummaging among the various balls, stuffed toys with no stuffing, and pull toys pulled apart.

Few if any toys were still in their original condition.  Legs pulled off, stuffing out, squeakers surgically removed, balls licked till they shine like dirt.  No matter what, though,  they seem to be well loved and cherished.  I highly doubt there will be a time I can clean out the basket without enormous difficulty (read: big brown eyes staring at me as if I was committing toy genocide).

Her new thing is a rubber football, a toy she has had for her whole life.  But it is football season.  Yesterday I saw her sleeping on it.  Way too cute.  We have been playing a quiet version of First and Ten.  She is a wide retriever, after all.

Murphy's day and Sage still doing well.