Our yard has a few stairs at the end of it, leading to our gate.
For reasons known only to Wiley, he decided to run up the little hill next to the steps and push his ball through the wrought iron banister, where it would land at my feet.
I swear we were not keeping him in a snowy prison. I don't know why he was so fascinated with this.
The first time he dropped the ball, I kicked it down into the yard and he chased it.
Where is it? Where is it?
Gotta find it! Gotta find it!
|I found it!|
After that there was no stopping him.
Kick it again!