143. Winter beach toy

Today the temperature is in the teens and Gus is full of beans.  We have the (still 

well barricaded) arena to ourselves, so I let him go free and I roll a gigantic beachball past him.  He always enjoys bopping it away with the top of his nose, and he immediately chases after it.  Now he gets downright silly: he gallops at it, lowers and shakes his head like a bull, pins his ears, and bops the very bejeepers out of it. 

When I roll it back past him, he spins away, then kicks out to one side with his two hind feet, farts abruptly, and gallops off in pursuit, throwing a little buck or two as he goes.  He barges it with chest, grunts in a menacing and satisfied manner, knees it, and then bops it.  (Donkeys fend off predators by kneeling on them and pinning them and biting them, but this ball is waist-high to a human, so it’s too big for Gus to squash the way he’d clearly like to.)  He’s so revved by this aggression-displacement game that he even pins his ears as he runs back to me for a treat.  And he gets a bit grabby, nearly nipping my hand.  Since the chase and attack is highly self-rewarding for him right now, and since I prefer to keep all ten fingers, I leave off clicking for each good bop.  He'd just as soon skip the interruptions anyway, the better to terrorize and trounce that ball.

Again and again, we gallop all over the arena, kick and fart and buck (mostly Gus, not me), and bop the ball so it damn well knows it’s been bopped.  Finally, Gus begins only trotting after it, and when he gets distracted enough to stop and stand on a mat, I figure the game is over. 

Well warmed up, we’re both ready to settle down for some slower tricks, like pedestal and pompom and, of course, music.  The cymbals, the bass drum, the horn, the keyboard — he’s refining his technique and developing his own style on all his instruments.  Stay tuned (rimshot) . . .