The small dog had a special ball
She loved with all her heart,
She groomed it, chased it, cared for it
As though they’d never part.
But one sad day it disappeared
Into the distant field,
A thorough search through grass and thorn
No trace of it would yield.
She has a lot of tennis balls
So, conscious of her plight,
I’ve thrown each one a hundred times
But none of them are right.
She looks up all expectantly
Then ducks, or lets it fall,
Somehow she knows that what I throw
Is not her special ball.
She just looks lost and awful sad,
And turns away instead.
I’ve tried with balls both old and new
She just retreats to bed.
She will not chase, she will not play,
She will not seek or fetch…
For days she’s looked all sad and hurt
And made me feel a wretch.
I know she’ll choose another ball
But meanwhile, what to do?
I hate to see the small dog
Looking all bereft and blue.
I know that I’ve complained a lot
About her ball-obsession
But I’d do anything to give
Her back her prized possession.
I feel I have betrayed her trust
And watch her deprivation,
I know her ball was all about
Love and communication.
She always brought it back, you see,
And always shared her joy,
It’s all about the love for her,
Not just about a toy.
Yet accidents will happen
And although I’ve searched the ground
And all the trees and bushes there
Her ball cannot be found.
I’ve fed her treats and cuddled her
But nothing helps at all…
I want to see her laugh again
And chase a tennis ball.