Tucker and his "Bobs"
We got our Jack last summer from a local breeder. I had done lots of research on the breed before hand, and thought for sure I had covered all the basics. Then I met Tucker, I was completely unprepared. This little fuzzball stole my heart day one. Having been a cat person all of my life, I had underestimated the power of the puppy. With my kids off at school all day, and the husband at work, Tucker became my constant companion. Puppy training posed it's challenges, but I tried to go forward with a solid sense of humor and plenty of paper towels. Then Tucker met "Bob". Bob is what we call the miniature tennis balls Tuck lobbies around the house and yard most of his waking hours; Bob is Tuck's constant companion. My hardy sense of humor is often tried and stretched to its limits when Bob is around. Tucker's favorite passtime in all the universe is dropping a soggy, spit covered "Bob" into your lap, sitting back and waiting eagerly for you to launch the ball across the room, he barrels after it every time like it's the first time; brings it back and starts again. Hours go by, your doing laundry? no worries, he finds you, homework with the kids? "Bob" can help. You're semiconscious and down with the flu? Take two teaspoons of Bob and repeat when necessary...you can see it gets unnerving. I have begun to reflexively throw items around the house. Try to ignore the Bob? An evil twist to the game. Shoving Bob under various pieces of furniture and moaning woefully until a rescue team is sent to recover the trapped ball. Sitting at the edge of the yard and nosing Bob just out of his reach, whining until you cross over to retrieve. Friends and neighbors enter our home with greetings to Tuck, followed swiftly with greetings to Bob. Eyes roll and excuses are made, but the pup is persistent and stubborn, his chestnut eyes reach out, his little ears stretch back, and said friend has just become engaged in a game that never ends. I play, you play, we all play "Bob". Or die. Tuckers love for "Bob" is unyielding, after a full day of fetch, he is often spotted stretched out on the sofa, belly up, eyes closed, "Bob" in jaw, sleeping contentedly, security...ball in mouth. My friend Tucker and his friend "Bob" have stolen a part of my heart, nosed it just out of reach, and I won't get it back.