Friends, it is the end of an era. Sherman’s cherished soccer ball–a relic from The Electrician’s childhood–has given up the ghost. Since his earliest days in the dollhouse, Sherm has played with the soccer ball: initially, this meant rolling it across the yard with his nose and toddling after it when we kicked it for him. More recently, he can be found loping around in the snow with the soccer ball clamped in his jaws, hoping for a spirited game of chase and barking at the magpies when they don’t want to play.
It’s now a pathetic shadow of its former self, completely deflated but stiff enough in the cold to avoid pancake status, so far. Sherm is bereft but hopeful. He seems to think if he shows what’s left of his ball enough reasons to live, the ball might just decide to survive, against all the odds. I don’t have the heart to tell him the resurrection of a 20 plus year-old soccer ball is highly unlikely.
I’ve brought home new soccer balls for Sherman several times over the last year, in the same vein as parents keeping a second goldfish waiting in the wings in case Bubbles the First heads to Flushing Meadows ahead of schedule. Every time he’s tried out a new ball, sadly, Sherman has enjoyed its company for less than an hour before things run flat. The original ball really should get a medal of honour or something for its bravery and resilience in the field. I really should take the ball away, but I am reluctant to toss it because I know my poor dog will spend several days searching the yard for the remains of his favourite toy.
I find it hilarious that Sherman’s favourite toy of all-time is a hand-me-down, especially considering how much we’ve spent on the latest and greatest dog paraphernalia on the market. I guess you can’t beat a classic, right?
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