At first it wasn't so hard...and then the painkillers kicked in and now he wants to play. He barks at all the balls which have been hidden in sinks and on shelves. When that gets tiresome he just sits next to the spot the ball is hidden - staring at me, then staring at it and PLEADING to play.
He follows me around from room to room, just in case. Right now he sits at my feet while I write this post, looking at me like I'm bananas. Why? Because people of the internet, this is when we play ball - WHY AREN'T YOU THROWING THE BALL?
So ten years of conditioned behaviour out the window. 10 years of practice and refining the art of catch and return. 10 years of learning the names of the objects he catches. Frisabee, Starball, Hedgie, Saucisse, Square Ball. And now? Now there is barking at birds, ripping up packets of stuff, and hiding under the bed when it is time for me to put him outside.
I wish he understood why we don't do the thing we love the most anymore.
I think that makes me the saddest.