Leaving aside that I dispute the characterisation of myself as a 'ball thief' (I'd prefer to be known as someone who loves to interact creatively and has an impressive ability to focus on careful guarding of a particular resource), I want to take this opportunity to update you on the state of play regarding my behaviour in the Duthie Park.
Gail calls it an "arms race".
So on approach to the grassy area in the centre of the park, every morning I survey the scene, first over to the bandstand in the centre then clockwise around the perimeter, scanning the statue of park benefactor Elizabeth Duthie, the obelisk commemorating the contributions of military surgeon Sir James McGrigor (1771 - 1851), and the JJR MacLeod Memorial corner.
But I am not interested in these historical monuments, I am looking for any dog who is playing with a ball.
My eyesight is keener than Gail's, at least when she is not wearing her glasses, and you can guarantee I will spot the ball first and be half way across the park before she shouts in vain "come, Nobby, come!"
It doesn't take long for me to gain possession of the ball. No matter the size of the other dog, my determination wins the day, and I am most reluctant to relinquish my prized acquisition.
But these days Gail has a trick up her sleeve. Or rather in her coat pocket.
MY FAVOURITE SQUEAKY YELLOW BALL*
I just can't resist when she squeezes the ball and it makes a noise exactly like that field vole I once, most thrillingly, caught.
So I drop the other dog's ball and approach Gail, who clamps on my lead.
I am then allowed to carry my squeaky ball all the way back home, but am not allowed to take it inside the house.
As I do not like standing outside out front door, especially, as yesterday, when it is raining and cold, I reluctantly let the ball go...
* £1.50 from Asda
