Saturday, for the first time, Honey didn’t come when I called her. She raised her head. She thought about it. She decided, Nah, not interested.
What was better than the hotdog in my treat bag? The rotting cherries surrounding the tree at a local orchard.
Of course I went and got her. And tried again, at a shorter distance. With fewer mushy distractions. And she succeeded.
Honey hasn’t failed to come since. But everyone who has had golden retrievers tells me their brains fall out when they turn 6 months old. I guess we’ll see.