Teddy's Notes on Toys That Get Used

Hi. I am Teddy. I am one. I am a cavapoo, which means I am half very-good-boy and half I-would-like-to-sit-on-your-lap-while-you-are-trying-to-work. People say I am needy. I say I am thorough. If you leave the room, I will follow. If you pick up a toy, I will remember that we were playing, even if that was three hours ago and you have since made dinner.

A bored dog is a busy dog, and not in a helpful way. If nobody gives me a job, I will invent one. Shoes are a job. The couch cushion is a job. Your attention is always a job. A ball that moves on its own is a better job. So is a rope. So is a feeder that makes breakfast last longer than four seconds.

Here is what I actually care about. First: movement. If a toy just sits there looking expensive, I will sniff it once and go back to the trash. A smart ball that rolls across hardwood without me having to kick it every three seconds is the assignment. Indoor floors, outdoor carpet, I am not picky about the venue. I am picky about whether it moves.

Second: something I can grab. Tug is how I talk. A spare chew rope is not a bonus for you. It is how I stay in the game when the ball takes a break. Third: food that requires thinking. A treat feeder is not a gimmick. It is dinner with a plot. If I have to work for it, I am tired afterward, which means you get to sit down.

If you are shopping here, start with the ball if you want me to burn energy without you throwing anything. Add the kit if you want chase, tug, and a puzzle together. Read the listing. Supervise chew time. If it is the wrong fit you have thirty days. I have standards. The humans have a return policy.

Anyway. I have to go. Someone picked up a toy, which means the afternoon has a new activity. If you buy something from this shop, thank you. If you have questions, email the humans. They answer. I mostly play. That is the whole business model, and I stand by it.