The Joy of a Happy Dog

The joy is mine alone; the wetness is their joy, the running in and out of the water, the occasional swim for the ball; the running up and down the beach. The small squabbles over whose turn it is to take possession of which ball.

"Mine," says Frida, and "mine" repeats Bob, snap, jaws on air, as feet pound the surf.

For the very first time, Frida goes out farther and gets to the stick first. Triumphant Frida.


Confused Babboo.

Happy dogs.

Joyful me.

Frida gets there first

I'm coming for the stick Frida!

Give me that stick!

It's mine Babboo

Babboo get his own ball, so all's well.