How are we going to play for the rest of the day?
First, you threw my favourite blue ball into the pond, where Jenny Greenteeth refuses to return it—forever.
And, no, tipcat is not a game worth playing unless we are actually tossing those evil furballs. Chew sticks would suffice, I suppose, but you claim the store was sold out of them and Amazon cannot deliver for three days.
Your lack of preparation and competence is stultifying both exercise with toy and emotional joy.
Hence, I feel I may be forced to peach you by telling your mom that you are, indeed, not a good boy—at least until you figure a way to recover some fun for this afternoon.
*more-deeply-set puppy-dog eyes*
A chopstick from the sushi dinner you remembered rather than my treats plus one of your smelly socks? Yes, that will do. ; )