It’s more than a hobby, Jack has a magnificent obsession. He wants people to throw things so that he can retrieve them.  Here he’s asking me to throw this stick that he’s laid at my feet, but it could be a ball or a stone, he doesn’t care. He does this all day long, indoors and out.  It’s his only interest apart from going for walks – oh, and he enjoys confronting the goats from the safety of the other side of the fence.

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And here he is retrieving it.  He’s not very good at it. He dashes off without looking where the projectile is headed and so if anything unexpected happens, he’s screwed. Then he seems to blame me, but I’m damned if I’ll run after a small stick myself. So after a couple of minutes he’ll find something else to lay at my feet. Sometimes it’s tiny: a twig the size of a wishbone will do.

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In between throws, he’ll torture it.

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Often he’ll shake it to death

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and sometimes he’ll gnaw it to death, but it’s a token gesture.  All he cares about is the chase.

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