The Baby, the Ball, and the Dog

In spite of being scared to death of “The Baby Ball that Moves by Itself,” so much so that he hates to even cross paths with it, Sherman wishes that he was the one to whom people still said, “Get the ball!”  He hears the word “ball,” and he reminisces about the good ol’ days  when we  played catch with him and when he was actually taken for walks and didn’t have to worry about his tail being pulled by little creeping and wiggling hands.  Ah, good times…good times.

Just one more notch down the totem pole, buddy.  At least you’re not on the bottom yet; that position belongs to the cat, Libby.

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