Dogs and their toys. Some are partial to soft lovies and others prefer a ball or Frisbee. Some dogs love a good game of tug with a giant twisted rope. Others like to chew and chew and chew. When dogs are proud of their toys, they like to show them off. It’s a compliment when a dog brings its toy to share. It usually involves flaunting the prize and a lot of tail wagging. In case you don’t know, the proper human response is to openly admire it and coo and make a fuss. It’s similar to addressing a small child with new shoes. It would be downright rude not to ask if they help the wearer run faster or twirl better. It’s the same with a dog flaunting its latest prize. I can’t resist. “Oh, my! Is that your lovey?” I ask, “Does it squeak? Is it your favorite? Lucky, lucky dog!” The dog’s pride is obvious and endearing.
“We might have finally landed on her favorite thing.”
We’ve tried a variety of toys to entertain our Daisy. We’ve had some success with a plush hedgehog—Hedgie for short. She seems to like the shape and the loft it gets when she tosses it in the air. We tried a rope piggie toy that was braided around an empty water bottle—literally. The crunch it made was enticing, until it collapsed and then she lost it under the deck somewhere. Balls are a non-starter for our pup. She doesn’t seem to understand the concept of fetch. Throw a ball for Daisy and she looks at you like you broke the rules. You first took her ball and then inexplicably threw it away. It’s an insult rather than an invitation. Tugging is also a foreign concept, so we forego purchasing any toys that are designed for fetch or tug of war.
Recently, our Daisy was given a squeaky rubber chicken. Okay, it was me. I gave it to her. I couldn’t resist when I saw it hanging there in the toy section, ripe for the picking. No special occasion—it just looked fun with its googly eyes and silly, bright yellow body. I gave it a little test squeeze and learned it makes an irresistible chicken-like squawk, so it made its way into the cart and was carried home. I just knew that Daisy would take a shine to it. The biggest problem we have with new toys is that Daisy takes them outside and drops them under the deck or somewhere in the yard where they get covered with a layer or two of snow. Then they’re out of commission until the thaw sometime in the spring. But, so far, Squeaky Chicken has avoided such a fate. My instincts were spot-on about the enticing noise it makes when squeezed. She adores chomping on different parts of its body to create different noises. To carry it around, she takes it by the head, which doesn’t squeak. The other day, I spied her taking an afternoon nap on the foot of the bed with Squeaky Chicken tucked between her paws. Now, that’s a first. I took a photo to mark the occasion. Squeaky Chicken has not been ditched in a snowbank or left outside at all. We might have finally landed on her favorite thing.
Our Toby, who passed several years ago, had a special relationship with an orange, vanilla-scented rubber bone toy. It didn’t come with a squeaker, didn’t soar when thrown or have any special features other than it being his most beloved toy. We called it Orange Thing and he knew it by name. We first found it at Bass Pro Shop, but it was a bit out of the way, so we were happy to learn we could order them online. He could smell it through the packaging when it arrived, and his attention was honed on the brown wrapping. I’d make a fuss as soon as the package was delivered. “Oh, what do we have here, Toby?” I’d say, reaching for the scissors. When his new Orange Thing emerged from the paper wrapping, he’d stare with rapt attention, vibrating with anticipation, haunches poised to spring, his ears perked and eyes dilated, while I clipped the zip ties anchoring it to the cardboard backing. Then, I’d hold it out for him. He’d take it in his soft mouth with such reverence and then trot off to find a quiet spot to be alone with his special toy. I’m not exaggerating. It was so special a moment that he needed to be alone to take it all in. Once he found the perfect spot to enjoy his treat, he’d make it his own by gnawing off the new toy smell. He’d get right to work making it spitty all over and covered with well-placed tooth marks. The funny thing was that the sliding of his teeth on the surfaces of the toy mixed with the lubricating effect of saliva, made sounds not unlike the twisting of balloons into balloon animals—you know that squeak and squeal that comes from forcing long, skinny balloons into Dachshunds? That sound. He seemed to do it on purpose. Once he managed a pleasing sound, he’d repeat it… over and over again. Because he was hidden away, the distinctive sound would halt conversation. People would cease talking, cock their heads (think Victrola dog) and listen, trying to place the source and why it sounded so familiar and yet so out of place. It was hilarious. We found that a simple explanation would not do. People needed to see the source with their own eyes. Toby’s antics with Orange Thing were legendary and memorable. We sure miss that dog!
When we first brought Daisy home, we found a leftover new Orange Thing in our dog supplies. It still smelled of vanilla. We offered it to her to see what would happen. Would she see what Toby saw? Would it have the same mesmerizing effect on her? Nope. She was unmistakably indifferent. No reverence, no vibrating anticipation or dilated pupils. Zero interest. This was new. The closest thing we’ve come to a toy preference for Daisy is Squeaky Chicken. According to Daisy, in a contest of Orange Thing vs. Squeaky Chicken, it’s team Squeaky Chicken all the way. Maybe we need to order more.
