Our neighborhood teen came to cut our grass this past weekend. It was a jungle out there. It was the first cutting of the season. It probably needed it the previous weekend, but Mommy and Daddy aren't picky as long as they don't have to cut it themselves! I wonder if I could get a job like that? If I had a job, I could buy as much food as I wanted. I'll have to think about this possibility and see if I can formulate a plan . . .
Whenever we hear the lawn boy starting to mow, one of our parents runs out in the backyard to round up all of our toys. They do their best, but sometimes they miss one. The poor guy has killed a stuffed tiger and many tennis balls. He always feels guilty, but Mommy tells him not to worry. There's plenty more where those came from. It was Daddy's turn to fetch the toys this weekend. He went out and found a rubber tire that we like to play with from time to time. It's a strong, durable toy, but can do some damage if you're not careful (just ask Grandaddy about the time it landed on his head). As soon as Daddy bent over to pick up the tire, he saw a tennis ball nearby. He went to grab the ball and saw another one! He picked it up, turned around, and there was another! Every time he thought he had all the tennis balls, another popped up!
I'll give you one guess where those tennis balls were coming from . . . the only hint you need is TENNIS BALLS. You guessed it . . . DIXIE! They just seemed to keep popping out of her mouth. She is such a tennis ball NUT!
The Battle of the Balls is the only fight I lose around here. That is really saying something, and I'm almost embarrassed to admit it. We all know I'm TOP DAWG and I win everything. Everything, that is, but tennis balls! [sigh] I guess you can't win 'em all. At least that's what Mommy tells me.
Better luck next time,