Benson Earns His Kibble

I'm tossing a toy for the dog that just shredded newspaper all over the house to protest being left home alone during the day all week.  There's a Dodger game on my earbud, and the force of a "wubba" launch flips the bud out of my ear into the wet leafy grass.  Dammit.  I look without moving my feet.  Don't find it.  I turn up the sound.  Traffic noise, no hope.  I plant a stick and search systematically for ten minutes in the rain.  Nope.  Then the light bulb over my head lights up. (Doesn't happen much anymore.)  I stick my finger into my ear, get it good and waxy, get Benson to sniff it, and pretend to throw something into the grass, telling him to "Bring it!". It took him all of fifteen seconds to find it, twenty feet away from where I'd stood.  He wouldn't pick it up (can't blame him), but he smiled and wagged his tail, snuffling in the grass around it.  Good dog.  It's just newspaper, not the couch, and he's right about being left with all that responsibility.