Morning at the park

Walked to the park with the dogs this morning. While I froze in the brisk 30 degrees, they frolicked around the baseball and soccer fields without a care in the world. They love running after tennis balls and playing keep-away from each other. When I play fetch with them, I have to make them take turns, otherwise Thatcher dominates that ball and doesn't let it out of his grasp. I first throw the ball as far as I can for Thatcher and let him bring it back. Then I hold his collar and roll the ball about half that distance for Boden to go chase. Boden picked up on fetching really quickly and usually brings the ball back perfectly. Except when he knows Thatcher is waiting for it. In that case, he'll dance around Thatcher, taunting him with the ball. I'm surprised at how well Boden is able to hold onto the ball, before Thatcher flat out tackles him to the ground to take it back. 

Messes, messes everywhere

My plan of baby-gating the shoe room failed. Although Boden cannot even climb onto our bed or the couch, he is apparently agile enough to jump over the baby gate, which is even taller than both aforementioned pieces of furniture. His motivation: the kitchen garbage can. If he can sniff even the tiniest hint of food in the garbage can, his main objective becomes getting to that food despite all risk. The first time I caught him, he was inside of the garbage can. He had knocked it over and crawled into it, and was munching delightedly on some dinner scraps. First, I whipped out my camera to quickly record the action. Then I tried to scold him. He looked so confused as to why I was sounding angry. Like he could not understand what was naughty about forging through the garbage can.

He has this thing when he gets in trouble. He doesn't ever seem remorseful or guilty, he just seems puzzled. I don't think he fully recognizes yet that "no" and "naughty" are negative words. Just looks at me like, "Mom, what's wrong with you? Why does your voice sound louder than normal?" Thatcher is the exact opposite and always has been. When he does something wrong, he punishes himself more than we do. All I ever do to scold Thatcher is say, "Thatcher, that is so naughty." He does the rest. He will literally grovel at your feet and make you feel like the guilty one for scolding him. There have been rare occasions when he gets sick and throws up or has a potty accident in the house, and my heart almost breaks for him because he seems so distraught. He does not like letting his mom and dad down, and he has the saddest facial expression a dog can possibly have. The other day I came into the bathroom to find the toilet paper roll shredded. I knew it was Boden, so I called him into the bathroom to tell him that was naughty. Thatcher, ever the masochist, brought himself into it and sat right next to Boden while I scolded him. Good big brother.

Twelve weeks

12 weeks today!

Boden is 12 weeks old today, and just over 30 lbs. I've really been noticing how much taller he is lately. He can now see out of the window in the backseat of the car without propping himself up on Thatcher's back. He can also drink out of the water tub in the backyard without having to stand on his makeshift step-stool (two pieces of wood stacked next to it). I swear it was just the other day that he fell into that water tub. The water level was at about half, so he had to really stand on his tip toes and lean in to take a drink. I happen to be watching as he tipped just a little too far in, lost his balance and dropped into the tub. He was so confused he started thrashing around frantically, so I had to run over and rescue him. Also, he has mastered stairs. Runs up and down them like a champ.

He's really becoming a little spitfire though. Poor Thatcher is never left alone for long. Just like us humans, he loses a lot of sleep due to Boden's new-found mischievous side. It's become a morning tradition for the three of us. I will wake up, or be woken up by one or both of the dogs, go downstairs and let them outside. Come back in and grab a cup of coffee. They will then commence their routine wrestling match. It mostly consists of them growling and mimicking each other's weird sounds. Otherwise, it's Thatcher on the offense, knocking Boden over every chance he gets. Boden, on the contrary, prefers a hit and run strategy. He'll run out and strike at Thatcher, then run and slide under the ottoman (which he just barely still fits under). As I write this, Boden is barking at Thatcher, taunting him to play. A wrestling match has begun.

 Throughout the roughhousing, many toys end up with missing limbs. We have dozens of dog toys littered all around our house, yet Boden prefers the items he isn't supposed to have, namely shoes. I remember losing several pairs of shoes to Thatcher, but I fear Boden is going to be much worse if we aren't careful. Most days when I get home, I find a shoe that was in the bedroom upstairs has made its way to the kitchen. Or a shoe that was in the back entryway has wandered to the upstairs hallway. So far, no terrible chew marks. But I'm starting to be aware.The entry way / shoe room is now safely guarded by a baby gate. Hopefully Boden doesn't learn to climb over it any time soon, I'd like to get past this puppy stage without compromising all my pairs of heels that I've finally started building back up since Thatcher's puppy days.


The moments I love the most with both dogs are those random little times they want to snuggle. Boden will walk over flop into my lap, or wait to be lifted up onto the couch with me. Thatcher's always been the same. Some mornings I'll wake up to him lying right next to me on the bed, quietly watching the squirrels out the window while he waits for me to wake up. Or I'll be working on a computer, and Thatch will climb right up onto the couch and rest his head in my lap. These are the moments that always make my heart melt. Right now is not one of those moments. Thatcher and Boden are lying on the floor right beneath my legs, staring at eachother and barking for no reason in the world. My legs keep getting lifted up by Thatcher's back, as he tries to reach Boden who keeps hiding under them.

Wild thing

 

Wild animal on the loose tonight. Sharp teeth like needles, black fur and crazy eyes. Completely uncontrollable. No stuffed animal, human foot or piece of furniture is safe. Seems to have taken a liking to our home. Can we tame him? Yet to be determined.

Taking turns

No matter how many times I've seen it, I will never get used to walking into the bathroom only to see that it's already occupied. By my dogs. Nobody likes having to wait their turn for the bathroom, but being behind two dogs in line is even more exasperating. I did laugh this morning though. I waltzed into the bathroom to find Thatcher waiting patiently for Boden to finish sneaking a drink from the toilet. Such polite Newfies I've raised.

Boden walks Thatcher

Walking the dogs is now the morning task that takes me the longest. I used to take Thatcher for a mile long walk in the morning before work and in the evening after work. Now, it takes us the same time to walk half the distance with Boden. Walking an adult dog and a puppy at the same time takes skill, and lots of tripping and adjusting the leashes. It used to be easier just to keep Boden off-leash and let him follow us. But lately this backfires if there is any human life form in site, as he'll beeline directly to them. Regardless of if he has to cross a busy street to get to them. He obviously has no concept of stranger danger, or that cars can be dangerous. So although it's kind of a hassle, I now keep him leashed. This is how an average walk with Boden goes.

I put leashes on both dogs and leave the yard. Thatcher walks perfectly. Boden walks about 11 steps, then abruptly stops. So I give Boden's leash a little tug, trying to get him to move. He sits, plants his front paws and braces himself firmly. Throughout this little struggle, Thatcher gently moves forward, trying to keep the walk going. I give Boden's leash another little tug, and luckily I'm still the stronger one. Boden finally starts walking and we move along our merry way, with Boden whining in protest. Boden will finally stop whining once he realizes that it's not going to get him out of walking. So he instead directs his attention to attacking Thatcher's head repeatedly. If Thatcher ignores him, he decides to go to more extreme measures and grabs Thatcher's leash in his mouth. So for most of our walks, that's what we look like. Me walking Boden, Boden walking Thatcher.

So alike, and yet...

Getting to know Boden has confirmed that some qualities we love about Thatcher are just inherent to the Newfoundland breed, not necessarily traits unique to the individual dog. In other words, although we adore Thatcher, I'm starting to think that you just can't go wrong with a Newfie. Not to say Thatcher doesn't have his own personality, he certainly has his own little quirks. But we always wondered if he turned out so great because of how we raised him or because of his genes. Nature vs. nurture if you will. And while we'd love more than anything to take full credit for how he is, Newfoundlands are consistently sweet, loyal dogs across the board. 

Thatcher and Boden are hilariously alike in many ways. Yes, puppies tend to copy the adult dog. But some things started from day one. For example, drinking out of the toilet. Boden had to have learned that before living with us, because he started doing it the first day home. He is too little to drink out of it comfortably, so he literally places both paws inside the toilet bowl to brace himself. Which leads to example two, the obsession with water. Boden, like Thatcher, will passionately attempt to splash around in water at any given chance. His water dish is his mini-pool. It's a no-spill kind, so try as he might, he has a difficult time tipping it. We were hand washing one of our cars the other day, and Boden thought it was the most exciting activities ever. Unlike Thatcher though, he loves getting splashed with water, and will go right up to running water or sprinklers. And example three, a love for sticks. When I let the dogs out into the backyard, they will immediately lie down and start chewing sticks. They would be content to do this all day long. Our next door neighbor asked us the other day, "What's wrong with the dogs?". Puzzled, I asked her what she meant. Apparently, she was confused because she's never seen dogs so mellow.

And yet, Thatcher and Boden have some differences. Overall, Boden seems pretty fearless so far. He's cautious in new situations, but very outgoing. When I brought him to Petsmart for the first time, he wouldn't come in the automatic doors, they were way too scary. When I finally got him in the door, he was freaked out of the cold, slippery tile flooring. He did not think it was safe to walk on. But for the most part, he's really very brave. Loud noises, which Thatcher cannot bear, don't phase Boden at all. One of Thatcher's oldest nemeses, the vacuum cleaner, gets along just fine with Boden. Also, Boden loves being snuggled and held. Thatcher never did. The most major difference though, is that Boden wants to please us. He already comes when he's called. Despite hours and hours of work with Thatcher, he still does not come on command. He does come, eventually. But on his own time. The differences go on and on, but we love them both the same.

Sunny, sleepy day

The weather is perfect. Sunny, breezy and 80 degrees. With winter looming in the next couple of months, I'm soaking in these days while I can. I spent the morning baking pumpkin muffins (completely from scratch, I might add) and picking up the house. Afterwards, I grab a hard cider and bring the dogs out to play in the backyard. Reluctant at first to leave the cool house, they both stumble down the steps and into the sunshine. They each meander over to the water bucket and rehydrate. Boden soaks his entire upper body and head. About a minute and a half later, they are both already lying in the shade under the back steps, dead to the world. Apparently, they are just way too exhausted to enjoy this lovely day. I mean, they did have a really rough day consisting of napping in the house, a brief morning walk, napping on the porch, running outside to go potty, napping in the house again, etc. And what might they be doing right now? Napping. Maybe I should have considered a more active breed of dog. I did manage to snap this quick photo of Boden in one of the few minutes he was actually awake today.

Brother bear

Boden bear is nine weeks and fitting right into the family. I can tell he's starting to love brother Thatcher more than mom and dad, but I saw that one coming. Since we brought him home, he's been sleeping upstairs with us. Last night though, Thatcher was downstairs when we went to bed, so Boden just cried until I brought him downstairs to join Thatcher. Of course, in the middle of the night when Thatcher assumed his usual sleeping position upstairs in the doorway of our bedroom, Boden got stuck alone downstairs. He doesn't do big flights of stairs yet. So I had to climb out of bed and run downstairs to get him. Then I got to listen to him bark at Thatcher whenever he woke up and got bored. I miss my sleep.

Everything else has been going smoothly though. Letting them outside and inside is a breeze, Boden just shadows everything Thatcher does. Now if only his bladder will grow so I don't have to clean up accidents every twelve minutes. I taught him "sit" this week. Well, I can't take full credit for it. He literally picked it up after the first time. He's so smart, it's kind of alarming. I'm planning on picking up some training treats and working on a few more commands this weekend. I also foresee a trip to the dog park in the near future. We haven't brought Boden to any water source yet, so I'm curious to see what he thinks.

Warrior puppy

 

Thatcher and Boden are starting to become buddies. Woke up at 5:30am to the sound of Boden barking incessantly. I peel myself out of bed, stepping in a potty accident in the process, and stumble down the stairs in search of the dogs. I find them in the kitchen in the middle of a stare-down. Boden is trying his hardest to get Thatcher to play.

We are quickly learning that Boden has a very confident personality. He does not back down from Thatcher, but instead barks and growls playfully back. I've been watching them wrestle around the house for the past two hours, wondering if our house will be able to sustain the beating of two full-grown Newfies romping around and crashing into furniture. Time will tell. In the meantime, it's comical to watch our little 20lb ball of fluff run around chasing Thatcher. We always assumed that Thatcher will be the dominant one, but we did not expect to get such a brave puppy. This little guy is going to give us, and Thatcher, a run for our money.

Bringing Boden home

It's official. We are the proud owners of two drooly giants. On Saturday, we drove up north to pick up our new boy, Boden. We were again reminded of how tiny Thatcher is when we met Boden's Newfoundland parents, Buddy and Shelby. Shelby is a gorgeous black beauty, and Buddy quite literally looks like a brown bear. Magnificent. We were told that Boden will likely grow to be somewhere between his parents' weight, hitting around 170 to 200 pounds. Yikes. We also were lucky enough to meet the other Newfies there, three lovely females (of course, all bigger than Thatcher). It made me want her life. A house full of Newfies in the country. Only I don't think I would be able to give up the puppies each time.

Car ride home

On the way home, Boden refused to sit in the freshly cleaned backseat with his bear and blanket. Instead, he snuggled up front on my lap the entire way. This is a change for us. Thatcher never ever cuddled when he was a baby, but Boden likes nothing more than to be close to us. So far, he sleeps with us on our bed at night. His favorite place to lie is above my head, against the open window sill. Accidentally fell down the crack between the head of the bed and the window a couple of times, but I peeled him out. He's a complete sweetheart. And his goofy side is starting to come out as he gets more comfortable with his new home and family. Now we just need Thatcher to come around.

He isn't mean or anything, just really stand-offish with the puppy. And extremely jealous when he notices us giving Boden any form of attention. It will just take a little bit of getting used to. They're working on learning to interact with each other. So far, their "playing" consists mainly of Boden running up to Thatcher, Thatcher getting worried that Boden might steal his toy or bone, Thatcher growling and turning around to give Boden the cold shoulder, and Boden running clumsily back to mom or dad. Boden is starting to stand his ground and be a little more outgoing towards Thatcher. This morning he was trying to get Thatcher to play. Thatcher growled, so Boden barked back and just kept barking at him. It's so funny watching them. Sometimes they act so much like actual children, I would give anything to know what their thought process is like.

Today is the first day Boden will be human-free for a few hours while we're at work. I felt so horrible leaving him. Since we got him, he starts crying if there is no person in sight. I've been worrying so much since I left, I feel like a parent of a real newborn baby. Puppies are probably one of the best ways to prepare for a baby. Just as needy and vulnerable, only benefit is that you can leave them home alone. Not that it makes you feel any better about leaving them.

Eleven seconds flat

Eleven seconds. That's how long it takes Thatcher to chew the plastic cap off a water bottle, including the little plastic ring around the top too. I can't remember exactly when or why he developed this obsession, but no water bottle in his path is safe. Even full water bottles better watch their back. Tonight I was sipping out of my bottle of sparkling water when I realized Thatcher was sitting directly in front of me staring expectantly. You'd think it was prime rib or something. But no, our dog is cheap to please. We've gotten in the habit of tossing him our empty bottles when we're finished. He dutifully chews the cap and ring off, then looks around for another. Doesn't chew the actual plastic bottle, doesn't eat any of the plastic at all. It just really bothers him when the plastic cap is left on. Of course, this means that our entire house is always littered with little plastic caps that I have to constantly run around cleaning up. Yet another one of the endless perks of owning a dog. Between caps, and the tufts of fur covering any floor surface, and the crusty drool marks on most walls, not to mention his dozens of half-chewed bones and toys with missing limbs, it is near impossible to keep a house with a Newfy in it perfectly clean. And here we are about to double our mess by adding another Newfy to the family. I don't know where my sanity went.

We're leaving Saturday morning to meet and bring home our little guy. They live about three hours away, so we'll be up and on the road bright and early. After waiting for about six months, it's so strange that we'll have him here in less than two days. We haven't even gotten anything ready yet, so I guess Petsmart will be one of his first fieldtrips. Yet to determine how Thatcher is going to react when he learns that he has to share his parents with a brother from now on. Let the puppy days begin!

A special love for anything that rolls

I have to share one last video of Thatcher's baby days. His love of balls clearly started very early on in life. At first, he was slightly afraid of them, which probably explains why he now destroys them all.

Fight or flight

So the state fair is going on and it happens that we live fairly close. How close? During the day, we can catch the aroma of fried doughnuts in the air. At night, we're able to hear the music from band concerts in the grandstands. Needless to say, many downsides to this. One being traffic. If we want to trek to our regular grocery store, the fastest route requires us to drive right by the fairgrounds. Now, this is actually a good way to practice your how-not-to-hit-pedestrians skill. Another downside comes around at about 10:30-11pm. Fireworks.

Thatcher is deathly afraid of fireworks. This did not stem from any particular incident. He has never had a bad experience around fireworks. In fact, he really hasn't been around them except for those rare occasions in the summer. But during the state fair, they shoot off fireworks every single night. It always happens right as I'm about to drift off to sleep. I don't wake up to the boom of the fireworks. We live in a big city, my brain is used to tuning out loud noises like trains, planes or crazy people. But I wake up to Thatcher's deep bark. He is convinced that the only safe place in our house when fireworks are going off is right in the doorway to our bedroom. So when they start, he runs upstairs barking, lies in the doorway of our room and does not move a muscle until they've stopped. Poor guy. Comforting doesn't even help. We try to get him to snuggle on the bed during this ordeal, but he will not move from his safe place.

Puppy update: 10 more days until we get to snuggle our new little Newfy. We received a packet of info from the puppy person. Contract, a book about the breed (can't wait to read!), etc. So Thatch and I are sipping coffee on the front porch, browsing through all the fun info. I may be slightly more excited than he is.

Loving summer

We spent Sunday evening in Thatcher heaven, aka: the dog park. The usual frolicking, splashing, swimming ensued. The nice thing about this dog park is that it's always full of life. Thatcher gets to practice greeting dogs politely, sharing sticks and coming when called. Well, he doesn't actually work on that last one. We do. Zero progress as of yet, but we're hoping for the day when he at least acknowledges that we are present. His favorite activity at the dog park is snatching balls or sticks from other dogs. I'm not proud of this. He's become rather lazy and rarely retrieves anything when we're in public. He loves the chase, but that's about it. So he's learned to wait until another dog has dutifully retrieved the stick or ball their owner threw for them. When they are almost to shore, he'll run out and take away whatever they have (if they let him). Needless to say, he gets growled at pretty frequently. 

To add to this, on the rare times he does retrieve something, he won't let it out of his mouth. He'll just carry it around proudly, looking out of the corner of his eye to see if any dog will dare try and take it back. Many other dog owners get confused, because their balls seem to vanish out of thin air. Unless we apologetically tell them that no, their ball hasn't disappeared, our dog is just hiding it in his droopy cheeks, they never know what happens. Thatcher's just a lost cause. I'm curious to see what different quirks the new puppy will have. Oh, and Thatcher says I can't forget to mention his absolute most favorite thing in the world about leaving the dog park: our ice cream stop on the way home. 

 

Klepto

Thatcher is a kleptomaniac. You would think that a dog as spoiled as he is would have no need to steal balls, toys, construction cones, etc. Not the case. He lives by the motto "finders, keepers". We've accumulated many the random item in our house thanks to this addiction. He's so sneaky about it too. Balls disappear into his mouth and hide safely behind his big droopy jowls. He can look you straight in the eye and be three inches away from you, and it's still impossible to decipher a ball in his mouth. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't kind of impressive. But the stealing part isn't the only problem.

He eats the treasures he finds. Well, first he has to "kill" the object. This involves popping, ripping, tearing, shaking, etc. When the said object has been satisfactorily subdued to shreds, some of those shreds magically make their way into his stomach. Again with the sneakiness. But when we catch him eating something he shouldn't be eating, like leather pieces from a football or string from a torn apart baseball, he quickly responds in one of two ways. 1. Without breaking eye contact with me, he'll slowly gulp down the piece whole, in the most nonchalant way possible. or 2. He'll hide the pieces in his jowls. I will walk over to him and search his mouth, and find nothing. The moment I step away from him, he'll start chewing on it again. If I notice this and start to scold him, we then cycle back to number 1 or repeat number 2. It's a jolly time.

Little dog in a big body

Thatcher has never understood his size. He thinks he fits perfectly on laps and in small armchairs. I think it's because he hardly ever meets dogs that are larger than him. You know how little dogs often have that "tough guy" mentality? Well Thatcher has the opposite. Has always genuinely believed he's a cute little lap dog. It's really quite comical, unless you are the one stuck underneath his huge body with your air source being cut off. I must say though, for being 115 lbs, he really can curl up into quite a tiny ball. Sometimes when I come across Thatcher in the random places he sleeps, it makes me laugh. Here are a few of those.

Puppy update: Six weeks old, 13.8 lbs. Got his first vet check-up today and is healthy as can be. Picking him up in 2 1/2 weeks.

Firework scare

Eventful night last night. In a bad way. We had some family over for a BBQ, and all of the guys were outside playing in the backyard. Thatcher, of course, had to be out there too. Well my sister-in-law and I were inside chatting and sipping on some wine, when we kept getting interrupted by the sound of fireworks. The guys had pulled out some leftovers from the Fourth of July and in true male fashion, had started having a firework "war" and throwing fireworks at each other. My sister-in-law and I kept getting irritated by the noise, when it occurred to me that Thatcher was out there with them. He is deathly-terrified of fireworks. That is no exaggeration. Right then, one of the men ran in for a lighter and I asked them where Thatcher was. He replied, "He's here inside, in the basement." A few minutes later, I decided I better go check that Thatcher really was in the basement. At that same moment, the guys all realized that Thatcher was definitely not outside. Everybody came running in the house and started looking and calling for Thatcher. He was nowhere to be found.

It was about 10pm and dark out by this time. Thatcher is black. I had no idea how we would find him. The guys fanned out and started searching the neighborhood. I found a flashlight and searched our yard, front porch and the next-door neighbor's yard. Fifteen minutes passed and still no word of Thatcher. We were all feeling awful, and I was about to go into panic mode. Right then, I get a call that they found him several blocks away. An elderly woman had found him and was holding him by the collar, walking him around the neighborhood and trying to find who owned him. A few minutes later, the guys showed back up with Thatcher, who was extremely shaken up. He spent the next couple of hours hiding in the bathtub, refusing to leave it. He's a little jumpy today, but pretty much back to normal. We swore we will never ever again allow fireworks anywhere near our house. 

On a brighter note, here's a few pictures from Thatcher's most recent photo-shoot with me. Enjoy. 

Country boy (wannabe)

Thatcher had a blast up north last weekend. Ran around a family member's farm, pretending to be a country dog. Played with our nieces and nephews, chased chickens and jumped up and down hay bales. He adores the farm. When we turn down the gravel road in that last mile, he perks up and starts literally shaking with excitement. One of his favorite activities out there is swimming in the river that runs through the woods near the house. Once out of the car, he'll beeline directly to the river if we let him.

The only problem is that masquerading as a country boy is hard work for a city-raised boy. Thatcher usually tires out within the first hour or two, and spends the rest of the day slowly wandering the yard or napping in the house. He'll follow the little girls everywhere, making sure they stay safe in the yard. He met our new nephew, who is just two-months old. Spent much of his time lying on the ground next to the baby, sleeping with one eye open, keeping an eye out for trouble. I'll be interested in seeing how Thatcher does when we have our own kids one day. We've always joked that he'll be a fantastic nanny.

Update on the new puppy: Four weeks old, snuggly, sweet and huge. In pictures, he already looks bigger than what Thatcher was at 9 weeks. We get to bring him home in one month and the name is still yet to be determined.

The dog days

Eventful weekend. On Saturday we took a 4 hour road trip to visit some of my family. Thatcher came along and loved it. He's an angel in the car, besides the dirt and drool he spreads all over the backseat. His favorite position is to squeeze his head onto the armrest between the driver and front passenger seats. He has to be as utterly close to us as possible. When he was younger, he would often climb onto my lap up front. I have no idea why we allowed this, but he was little and cute back then. So occasionally he'll still try to clamber up front, not realizing that he's no longer the 20 lb ball of fur he used to be. It definitely has made people driving next to us do a double-take, when they see this huge black dog squeezed onto my lap and all hunched over in the passenger seat. 

Rainbow on the car ride home

When we arrived at my family's, Thatcher got to run around and play with their two puppies. By run around and play with, I mean he followed them around hopefully while they pretended he didn't exist.  They are a four-month-old brother and sister pair who have never been separated from each other. They literally live in their own little world. They would start wrestling, and Thatcher would gleefully race over to them and try to get in on the action. But they would just ignore him. Poor fellow.

Yesterday we "discovered" an amazing dog park. It's seven acres of woods and trails right along the river. Swimming + tromping through woods + lots of other dogs = Thatcher in heaven. Sometimes I feel bad for him, because he tries to play with other dogs and they don't always want anything to do with this big, goofy giant. He's too slow to have a chance at fetch with the retrievers, too large to play wrestle with the rambunctious dogs, too oblivious to pick up signals when another dog is feeling threatened by him. He still loves it though. A person there was throwing a tennis ball into the river for his lab to fetch. Thatch beat the lab to the ball once, but then the ball disappeared. We were all looking around for it, before we realized that it was hiding in Thatcher's mouth for the last five minutes.