Who trained who?

There is a long road running parallel to the church grounds at Grandma's place. It is called "Airport Road" aptly named for the airport at the end of it. Every day, I take the dogs (Monty and old, man Davy) from Grandma's house, up the road, and back again.

I love this route. I don't have to have the dogs on the leash because there is nothing and no one there. Well, there is the occasional car and the occasional deer and horse poop, but other than that there is nothing.

I take the dogs and throw the ball for Monty while Davy investigates the road as though he hasn't walked it at least 500 times. I love the walk. It's long and leisurely and I pretend it gives me enough exercise to forgive the extra candy I've consumed in the name of Easter. I walk slowly, throw the ball for Monty, make sure Davy doesn't get hit by cars, and I think.

On one of our walks, I came from my musings to realize something was amiss. I was throwing the ball for Monty and he was dropping it for me to throw again, but we seemed to be missing a step. So I start paying attention. I throw the ball, Monty chases it, picks it up, and waits for me to catch up with him so I can throw it again.

My dog is so lazy, he's figured out a way to avoid the returning part of fetch. In order to make him bring me the ball I had to modify my walk. I could throw the ball and he would catch it, but then I had to stop walking. If I was not moving, Monty knew he had to bring the ball to me to get it thrown again. But, if I was walking forward, he figured that was close enough to "come" as he had to do. I mean, really he was getting nearer to me ever second. Why make it any harder than it needed to be?

I was outsmarted by the dumbest dog alive.