Our big dog, Gunner, doesn’t play catch. Keep away is his game of choice. I found out this morning that any old stray piece of laundry will do. Yesterday it was my brother’s dirty sock. Today it is a rather smudged white T-shirt. I laughed out loud when Gunner trotted off to the dry pond to fetch it. Admittedly, had it been my shirt, I would not have been laughing. Sorry, John.
For months I have been missing one brown sock and one dark green sock . . . and my favorite bra. I have a new theory now concerning their fate.
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