My old dog used to love carrying any stick. He was a black lab. We’d always either give him ridiculously small twigs that barely fit his mouth and he’d be so gentle with, and pleased as punch, or literal fallen trees that he’d drag along as though his life depended on it. He loved them all.
My old dog used to love carrying any stick. He was a black lab. We’d always either give him ridiculously small twigs that barely fit his mouth and he’d be so gentle with, and pleased as punch, or literal fallen trees that he’d drag along as though his life depended on it. He loved them all.