At a friend's house he played hard in the yard as the kids threw the ball we had brought along. After dinner, said friend insisted it was ok to let him back out in the yard alone to wander around, after all, we had checked that both side gates were closed when I arrived. Of course, when I stuck my head over the balcony to check on him a few minutes later, he was gone. Frantic new mom that I am, I bolted down the stairs and toward the gate that some neighborhood kids had opened while we were busy yakking. Fortunately my new kid came immediately when called, bounding happily from the neighbor's back yard with his new treasure, another tennis ball. How many miles away can he smell this green fuzz?
The grand prize last week was an orange squeaky ball. It had seen better days, sporting the chewed remnants of a handle, or maybe arms and legs. It wasn't too dirty, so I let him carry it for the rest of the walk and bring it home in the car, squeaking all the way.
At home when I get tired of wet balls in my lap, they go into the nearest closet, cupboard or drawer. Being gone for half a week, I had totally forgotten about the orange ball, until I opened the bathroom cupboard this morning to pull out a new roll of toilet paper, and found the orange ball in its cushy resting place. Almost as excited as Sunny to find the treasure, I pulled it out and let the games begin.
Soon it was shower time, for me. I was just settling in for a long hot one, when that orange ball came shooting out from under the shower curtain and rolled around the tub. I just laughed and laughed, at the ingenuity of this guy. Then I noticed the bulge in the shower curtain where his head was obviously waiting for the ball to be returned, which no doubt would lead to an unending game of shower ball. I declined.
After a while, I handed it out gently, and he assumed his usual shower position - curled up on the bath mat, as close as he could get to me without getting wet.
Another Early Photo From Aunt Debbie
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