Labs are pretty special this way. They will play all day, if you will.
It’s not a demanding sport. You don’t have to think too much about your role. Your job is to pick a spot along the shoreline within easy throwing distance of the lake, and, like a baseball pitcher standing, poised on pitcher’s mound, to lean into your throw – to send that ball as far out over the water as you can.
You don’t have to finesse it, the way that a professional baseball player will do. You can probably mess up your pitcher’s stance and throw wide. Labs don’t care about proper form.
They’re in it for the fun of it. Chasing balls is something that is so deeply wired into their DNA that they never question it, never hesitate, never not want to do it.
It’s perfect joy; a finished poem, a jazz riff – a saxophone wailing one long note soaring above murmured voices floating over crowded tables in a darkened club.
Voices that gradually still because that note is so persistent in its message that everything surrounding it sucks down until it’s the size of the orange ball
that you wrap your fingers around, squeeze once or twice before taking up your pitcher’s stance for the wind up just before you lean into it and throw.