Clapham Common yesterday: Lucky, a spaniel / terrier cross, during his 7th retrieval of a well used and prized tennis suddenly stopped, sighed, looked at his owner disappointedly, walked to sit under a tree and looked wistfully at the nearby pigeons.
Lucky's Owner, Jonathan Thwaite, 45, was confused and slightly upset telling friends that he was 'disappointed' that a much beloved and joyful game was now very much a thing of the past. No amount of cajoling, promising of treats or verbal scalding could coax Lucky to play fetch but when Mr Thwaite gave up and began home Lucky followed him.
When interviewed Lucky said, "What's the point eh? We both know what's going to happen. It's not as if it's a fucking pheasant, it's tennis ball with my drool all over it. What does he want with it? It's disgusting."
"To be frank, I don't even believe he's putting in the full effort when he's throwing it anymore anyway. I'm not a pup, I KNOW the difference."
Mr Thwaite told reporters that Lucky had never shown such indifference before stating, "I don't know what's wrong with him. I find it a little disrespectful to be honest. I have done nothing but defend him during his little misdemeanours: sick-on-the-bed-gate, when he tried to hump that toddler, when he shit in next door pond and killed those Koi. I've supported him fully. This feels like a betrayal."
With no end in sight to the impasse Mr Thwaite went to the pub without the guise of walking the dog and Lucky went to his basket and vigorously cleaned his crotch area. The tennis ball at the time of writing was still unfetched.