The Mud Bowl

We have played football in 8 degree temperatures with winds howling that made the ball dip and turn and fly off in every direction.

We’ve even played in a drizzling rain and of course, we ran it back a number of times when the temperatures were up in the 80’s.

But since my backyard is an absolute disaster because Oliver has runs and runs and runs, we have a bit of a problem following heavy rains.

“We can’t play in the mud,” I tried.

I checked out the field conditions on the side lot. Plenty of grass and still a blanket of snow.

The only problem we have there is that the neighbors sometimes like to swing by and catch the show.

“He’s amazing,” a man on a walk said. “Does he ever drop one?”

I laughed.

“I usually throw him 30 at a time,” I said. “He’ll drop one or two. It’s usually a bad pass.”

As my neighbor watched, I counted it out for Ollie.

“So, you call out what number throw it is?” He asked.

“Yeah, and believe it or not, he knows when we are done.”

My neighbor was enthralled. 

Ollie ran up to him with the ball in his mouth.

“I’ll throw you one,” my neighbor said.

Ollie didn’t drop the ball for him. Instead, he came by and left it at my feet.

“He only plays with me,” I said. “He takes this pretty seriously.”

“You’re a lucky guy,” my neighbor said. “He’s a great dog.”

For sure.

(He was full of mud, by the way).