Each time Casey and I come home from a walk, he barks for a treat. And each time I throw a kibble in the air for him to catch. He never does. After he roots around, veering off toward Kansas City, I telll him he’s getting colder; then he turns around and I say “You’re getting warmer,” and finally he finds it. Then I always say, “Wow, good job, good job!!” (Even though I won the game, because the rules are for him to win, he has to find it without any hints.)
This reminds me of the time my oldest daughter, Eliza, at age 5 years old or so, accused me of deceit because I raved about every mark she ever put to paper.
Today it occurs to me that maybe, given all the praise I shower on Casey in order to boost his self esteem, he thinks he’s supposed to miss the little brown kibble when I throw it. And then he thinks he’s supposed pretend to look around, puzzled, heightening the excitement for me, even though all the while he knows it’s under the hall table.
Read about Casey’s nicknames, whether he’s bored, mayhem with a squirrel in the house and more.
More about Casey, as well as MARRIAGE, RELATIONSHIPS, THERAPISTS, MOMS, AND MORE IN MY NEW MEMOIR . . .
“Readers of all ages will relate to this deeply personal story, told with comical sensibility by a quirky, startlingly honest mother, daughter, ex-wife, and dog lover, who—à la Nora Ephron—will feel like a dear friend. Confessions of a Worrywart: Husbands, Lovers, Mothers, and Others will stay with you long after you finish reading it.” (adapted from Amazon description and culled from Amazon reviews)
The perfect book for worrywarts or anyone who enjoys a “neurotic, hilarious, poignant,” deeply personal story.
I’d love to know other games to play with Casey (fetch is not in his vocabulary) . . . suggestions anyone?