My Stick, My Stick

My most favourite stick!

If we go for a walk without a ball (and we did this morning) Caley will hunt in the undergrowth and emerge with a huge stick. He runs up behind you with it and his spatial awareness is not sufficiently tuned to realise he is going to clatter the backs of people's legs. The stick invariably has sharp bits capable of ripping clothing.
It is normally posible to divert his attention by finding him a "better one"; no spikes and say a foot long. I tried this several times without longterm success. He kept on running back to his favoured choice of weapon.

Enough's enough. Upon getting my hands on the log I launched it in to the tree tops here.

My goodness he wasn't happy, yelping with distress as though someone was hurting him. He was up on his hind legs and jumping really high to try and reach it. I have seen him climb a tree before but this scrub was too spindly for that.

"Come on Caley, here's a better one"