A Load of Balls!

Finlay the Cocker Spaniel - looking like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth….

Many dogs like playing with a ball. So does Finlay, our Cocker Spaniel. But in his case, it’s different. Finlay loves balls. Any kind of ball. He stops next to the tennis courts when we pass them on a walk, his head turning to and fro, fixated on the ball being sent back and forth between the two players.

He wants to join in games of football in the park and has done so before now, if I’ve been off my guard. The players are not amused.

When the All England Lawn Tennis Championships at Wimbledon were on in the summer, he stood transfixed in front of the television as if he was watching the game, when really, all he wanted was that ball to pop off the screen and land in our sitting room. It’s all rather charming and amusing. It’s also a complete pain!

Finlay is now three years old and has largely left his crazy, destructive and anti-social puppy behaviour behind. He has turned into a lovely dog and we all adore him. He is so much more obedient, does what we want him to do (mostly) and is thus more enjoyable to be with. But throw a ball into the mix and it all goes pear-shaped!

We have to limit the amount of ball play Finlay is given on walks and indeed often don’t allow him to have any. It’s all too easy for him to become completely obsessive to the extent that he forgets about everything else and becomes wilful and disobedient, running off, refusing to come back or to give up the ball. Not giving him a ball is the obvious solution but that just means that when he spots someone else throwing a ball for their dog, he’s off on a mission to steal it.

Truthfully, he can spot a ball thrower when they are barely a speck on the horizon and once he does, no amount of calling or whistling from me will deter him. He disappears, ears flapping and when he returns, sure enough, he is proudly holding someone else’s ball in his mouth. Now I have go through the whole palaver of apologising to the owner and trying to get Finlay to return the ball he’s pilfered.

On occasions, it’s all made just too easy for him. There are some dogs, often laid-back Labradors, who seem to be remarkably unpossessive about their belongings. Along one will come, plodding past us with its owner, carrying a ball in its mouth. Then it will turn, look back, stop momentarily to exchange sniffs with Finlay and just drop its ball right under Finlay’s nose. With no hesitation Finlay swipes it.

I carry a spare tennis ball with me for precisely this reason: it’s easier just to do a swap with the other owner and we can both go on our way. Unless, that is, the owner won’t accept a mere tennis ball in exchange and laughs in my face when I suggest it

“That’s a super-duper, indestructible, extra-bounce, glow-in-the-dark, floats-in-the-water, all weather ball and I paid a fortune for it online”

“I’ve got £5 on me”

“No, sorry that won’t cover it. It cost £19.99”

“Really? If I had a ball that cost that much, I wouldn’t let my dog out of the house with it!”

I don’t say this of course. What I actually say is

“I am so dreadfully sorry, it’s just that no amount of treats - or indeed threats - will get him to give it back. He sees a ball as more valuable than anything else. (In this case it is!) I should be able to get him to give it up when we get home. Can I take your address?”

While Finlay stands at a distance, relishing his ultra-valuable, new acquisition and showing no signs of relinquishing it, I mumble more apologies. I note their address down on my phone so I can deliver their special/priceless ball back to them once we have managed to get it back. Honestly, I’ve driven miles to knock on someone’s front door and hand over their prized possession, which, frankly, seems much more important to them than it did to their dog, but then, I suppose, the dog didn’t have to pay a fortune for it.

Once the jotting down of the address has taken place, flushed with embarrassment and shamed by my bad dog management, I put Finlay on the lead and head homewards, telling him off severely.

“Do you have any idea what that ball cost? You have completely ruined what promised to be a lovely morning……. and it’s your own fault we’re going straight home.”

He ignores me and trots along, proudly clutching his new toy. Once home, he always gets a wash at the outdoor tap and then it’s time for breakfast. But not on one of these mornings. Instead, I leave him tied up outside, ball still held determinedly between his teeth.

I keep an eye on him through the kitchen window while I clatter about in the kitchen. He whines a bit, knowing that food is being prepared. It’s not long before he realises that breakfast is - only just - better than ball. He drops it. I let him in and dry him and normal routine is resumed. I check how far I need to walk/drive for the ball return.

So, to this morning. I set out with high hopes. I take Finlay to the park and stop on a green space, checking there are not too many other dogs around and, most importantly, none that seem to be chasing balls. The coast is clear. I decide to risk it and throw Finlay’s ball for a short while, then resume our walk. It is all going so well, me throwing the ball, him retrieving it and dropping it each time so I can throw it again. Good Boy!

From somewhere behind me a woman appears with two dogs and two balls. Finlay immediately drops our ball, dashes over and steals one of theirs.

“Finlay!” I shout, “drop it!”

“Sorry” I say to the owner. She smiles

“Don’t worry”

When I call Finlay, miraculously, he brings it back to me and on command, drops it. Excellent behaviour.

“Good boy” I say, pick it up and return it to her, immediately throwing Finlay’s ball for him in the other direction as she resumes her walk. Phew! That was close. Finlay comes trotting back to me, looking happy, his ball in his mouth and is about to drop it for me, when he spots the woman and her dogs walking away.

As if possessed by some demon, he casts his ball aside, gallops after her and steals one of her balls again. He runs back to his own ball. Now it is a terrible dilemma. “Which ball? Which ball?” I can see him thinking, as he frantically picks up first one ball then the other, and then, ridiculously, tries to get both balls in his mouth at once. As I approach him, he makes his choice. New ball. He snatches it. This time he isn’t giving it up.

“Why is it” I ask the woman her as she walks back towards me “that some other dog’s ball is always better than their own?”

“Like children I suppose, they always want the other child’s toy”

We both laugh.  

“I can offer you this” I proffer our much older, muddier and more worn tennis ball.

“Who cares” she says, it’s a ball and they’ll play with it”

Why can’t everyone be this easy? I think. We part on good terms, but Finlay, jaws firmly clamped on his bounty, is in disgrace. I put him on the lead and march home, chastising him on the way. He shows no signs of remorse.

I remember then that we need a few things from our local pet store/garden shop. Our route takes us right past it, so I pop in and while I am gathering up my purchases, Finlay, with stolen ball still in mouth, sniffs along the shelves packed with bones, chews and other covetable doggie treats, that I know he won’t be tempted to thieve, as it would mean letting go of the ball.

Suddenly, at the end of the shelving display, there is a huge commotion: the other customers turn round to see what’s happening. Finlay jolts on the end of his lead and almost pulls me over. The ball shoots out of his mouth and rolls across the shop. Finlay is backing towards me mesmerised by something I can’t see. I peer round the corner and there, back arched and hissing wildly, is a large tabby, one of the shop cats.

“Sorry about that” says Amanda, the owner, picking up the tabby “these are two new cats, and they haven’t yet got used to the dogs that come in the shop, so they’re a bit feisty!”

“No problem” I say, “no damage done, and your cat has managed to achieve what no one else could. Finlay was so surprised, he’s dropped the ball I’ve been trying to get back from him for half an hour!” I pay for my purchases and pause momentarily by a display of muzzles: that would solve the problem. But it seems a bit drastic. Better to go home and spend some time on a bit of intensive training to try to get Finlay to drop the ball when I tell him to. Maybe one day I shall achieve it……

You’re reading Home Truths, a fortnightly essay from me, Susy Smith. I am many things: a parent of grown-up kids, a dog owner, a gardener and a compulsive mover of vases (I worked for years as a stylist). I am also a writer/editor and spent my whole career working in magazines, as I had dreamed of doing since I was 12 years old. I was Editor-in-Chief of British Country Living Magazine for 24 years and loved every minute of it until I retired in 2019. I write here on an eclectic mix of subjects about life, and a few of the lessons I’ve learned along the way. 

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