My wife and I have owned a Black Labrador Retriever for about 13 years. Sam is a great dog, but he’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, if you know what I mean. Our former dog, also a Black Lab, had lived for the chance to run after a thrown tennis ball or stick, and bring it back. He would do it all day long if you let him. But Sam was different.

When he was a new puppy, and long into his doggy adolescence, we tried to train him to do what we thought was natural for his breed. We would show him a ball, toss it with an exaggerated motion, and yell, “Go get it, Sam! Good boy! Get the ball!” Sam would run after it, sniff it, then quickly lose interest and start chasing a butterfly or something. Somehow, the concept of bringing the ball back just never seemed to sink in. But we love him anyway—he’s got many other talents, such as eating, scratching, and smelling stuff.

A couple of years ago, a new cat came into our lives. Lucy (short for Lucifer) was an unlovable bundle of claws and teeth, and had made stops in several other foster homes before she landed on our doorstep. But after about six months with us, I think she figured out that this was her permanent home, and she started becoming a little friendlier. Now she even likes to be petted and sometimes sleeps on the bed with us. 

Lucy has a lot of young cat energy, and we found out that she is just crazy about jingle balls. One day I picked one up and threw it down the hall, and when I looked up there was Lucy, trotting back with the ball in her mouth. She came up to me, dropped it at my feet, and looked up at me like, “Well? Aren’t you going to throw it again?” So I did. And thereby created a monster. 

As I am typing this, Lucy is under my chair with her ball, bumping me with her head, snagging my pants with her claws. She is smart, and if I don’t give in and throw the ball, she will go up on my desk and start knocking things off until I relent and play her favorite game. I can throw it fifty times, and she doesn’t seem to tire. Lucy will keep trotting back, dropping the ball, and looking up at me.

I try to explain that I am Very Busy with Important Stuff, but she does not care. As far as Lucy is concerned, my right hand has but one purpose, and that is to fling jingle balls down the hall until my daughter stomps out of her room and yells, “Some people are trying to sleep here, you know!” 

Maybe I should just go down to the pet store, buy a bunch of white mice, and let them loose in the house. That might keep Lucy busy for, say, 20 minutes. 

Then she’d be right back with that damn jingle ball.