Abby would be the former. She walks into walls, has, at one year old still not mastered "sit," and is generally the dumbest dog I've ever laid eyes on. Duke, on the other hand . . . We have met our match with that one! Last night he was playing with his blue squeaky football. He loves squeaky toys better than any other type, and he's had this particular football since he was a puppy. We have to be careful with him, though, because he's a destructive toy chewer. Those toys in the dog aisle at the pet store that say "indestructible?" Those make me giggle. Anyway, we let him play with the football, but keep a close eye on him to make sure he's not going to rip through the plastic with his jaws of doom.
Last night, after a rousing game of fetch (have I mentioned that my dogs only play fetch indoors? Throw a ball for them outside and they just stand there staring at you; throw one indoors and they will climb over one another to race after it. Weirdest thing.), Duke sat down with the football and started to gum it to death. We were worried that the ripping would start soon thereafter, and so Mike took it away from him and put it up on the end table. He was having none of that, so he jumped up on the end table, nearly knocking the lamp over. Instead, Mike took it and hid it between his back and the couch cushions.
Duke sniffed it out, then wandered over toward the back door and started barking at us. Mike stood up to open the door for him, and Duke jumped on the couch, grabbed the football, and ran off. Yep. My husband, with years and years of higher education, was tricked by the dog.
(courtesy of http://weblog.cenriqueortiz.com)