FIP my Welsh rugby ball!

It had to happen. Sam reneged on the deal. 

The beautiful Welsh rugby ball when it arrived at our house in March. Those eyes say it all
THIS IS MINE .... DO NOT TOUCH!

He let my Welsh rugby ball float off into the big blue yonder. 

FIP Welsh rugby ball ... I’ll miss you. 

(FIP = Float in peace)

It's heading off to Rangitoto

If I’d been able to persuade my hound to leap into the waves after it, in between all the chaos of Sam running backwards and forwards across the rocks and this other silly hound barking it’s head off .... we might have been able to save it. My hound was confused though .... Sam kept racing to the edge of the rocks in front of her. The other hound was barking for its stick to be thrown. It was a bit like our house USED to be when the kids were younger and heading off in 3 different directions to school. It was organised CHAOS.

When we look after Sam, we BROADEN his education .... we EXPLORE nudist beaches!!

Those days still come back to haunt me. The last few years of Gareth being at Junior School were the worst. 3 children going to 3 different schools, one of which happened to be a 45 minute drive away, would test the sanity of MOST people. 

They survived .... the kids that is .... and I didn’t kill anyone.

I digress though .... back to the hounds and my Welsh rugby ball crisis.

The Welsh rugby ball’s time was up. We nearly lost it yesterday on our ramble. The hound dropped it in the village as we were making our way up the hill. We didn’t register it wasn’t in her mouth anymore until we got to the top of the hill. Gav and her went back to look and she knew EXACTLY where she’d dropped it. Her pace quickened as they got closer and she gleefully grabbed the ball in her mouth and raced back up the hill to where I was waiting.

Sam, LEAPING into the waves!

It was a close call.

You wouldn’t know it was a Welsh rugby ball anymore. It’s well past it’s prime and all the kicking and throwing into the waves and river have removed any semblance of colour from it’s exterior. It’s been well-chewed too .... both ends no longer resemble leather of any kind. My hound prefers it like that though .... all the better to get a good grip on it!

CHOCOLATE BOX hounds!

 I guess I’m going to have to find myself another Welsh rugby ball.

In the meantime I’m sure Sam will be happy using the South African ball when we ramble together. I’ll just pump a little more air into it and he’ll be a happy “wannabee” rugby-playing chocolate hound.

Carol might not be so happy though. She's not so sure about Sam LOVING my Bokke ball.

Chelsea - we haven't seen her on the beach for a little while .... but that's because she's had 10 puppies!

Sam spent some time with us this weekend