No Memo! Infuriating!

Sunday at Cleo's house. The best day of the week! Center of attention. Sniff-worthy green grass. Space to run. All-day food buffet. I just needed to figure out direct access privileges. And of course Cleo! What could be better?

Let's go, Mama!

The second Aunty Bev opened the front door, I bolted inside to make my arrival known. Find Cleo. And start collecting all the love and back rubs waiting for me. But on this particular Sunday, my paws were so shocked by what my eyes were seeing — they came to an immediate sliding stop right between the kitchen and the lounge — without any instructions from me.

OMD! What was this? Had I been blindsided? Lost center of attention status? Apparently yes! My heart dropped. My tail stopped wagging. Current indications were that I'd even be playing outside on my own because everyone, including Cleo, was glued to the big screen TV.

OMD. How did this happen? I was not one bit happy! I needed a word with my Mama. In private. Immediately.

And for the record, the only reason I wouldn't be having a word with Cleo about this, too, was that, at the time, she didn't know "this" was an issue for me. It had never come up in conversation. If it had, paws down, Cleo would have sent me a status change memo.

This was all on Mama! And I know exactly why she didn't send me a memo. Because Mama needed me to show up at Cleo's house willingly — without any drama. And definitely without any delays. And that would not have happened if she had sent me a memo.

So, I didn't need a word with my Mama that day. In private. Immediately. To find out why. I needed it to tell her how mad I was with her.

Because we were at a big screen TV sporting event. And Mama knows how I feel about watching sporting events - on any size TV! A waste of time! Spending hours watching other people playing with a ball and having more fun than you!

That's why there wasn't a memo directed to me. And that's why I was blindsided by not knowing it was going to be a sporting event Sunday at Cleo's house that week — and not the usual social, Toffy-the-center-of-attention event kind of Sunday.

And it wasn't very nice of Mama to do that to me. And she needed to know that! In private (because I have manners!) Immediately.

But guess what. Mama was already glued to the big screen TV! Like everyone else. That should tell you how boring my day was going to be.

But it gets worse. I didn't just lose my status as the center of attention for the day to any sporting event. I lost my status to the most boring sport, with the most boring ball in the world of sport.

I lost my center-of-attention status for the day to GOLF!

That's right! Can you believe it? GOLF!

Do you know how that makes a social, people-person, fun-seeking, loved-by-everyone dog feel? Invisible. Irrelevant. Like I never even walked through the door.

And to make it worse — I didn't just lose my status to any sport. I lost it to the one sport where I can prove, with complete authority, that even the ball is boring.

And I know what I'm barking about. I know all about balls – so I'm well qualified to comment on this. I know the impact the shape, size, bounce, texture, color, sound, and speed of a ball have on its potential to create fun. My pawspective is informed and objective. Because I've owned every type of ball possible. I play with them. Chase them. Guard them. Carry them — sometimes even for hours. The only thing I don't do is catch them.

But I'm still a ball expawt.

And I can confirm that even the absolute best golf balls – like the ones they'd be using at the famous Masters Golf Tournament at Augusta National - are B-O-R-I-N-G!

They're all the same color and size. They don't make any sounds and can only do two things. Roll on the ground or fly across the sky. If you're lucky, once in a while, they might hit a tree or hide in the bushes or disappear into some water. But most of the time, they're nowhere to be seen because they're getting a free ride, tucked away in their golfer's pocket.

So, I'm not even sure how golf and golf balls qualify as a real ball sport. I've tried to understand the point of the game. It still makes no sense. The winner can't be the person who walks fastest from Flag 1 to Flag 18. Because no one ever even runs. They just stroll along.

And it can't be which ball gets into the most holes, because they all go into every hole. No matter how long it takes.

So maybe the golfer who wins is the one whose ball listens best when it has to move from one flag to the next. And if this is how you win the 90th Masters Golf Tournament at Augusta National, then Mama and I should have been invited to compete there years ago already. We walk from point A to point B every single day. And we're not the strolling type, so that says a lot about our potential to dominate. And if I replace the ball — because I'm so well behaved — winning would be a slam dunk!

Yet, there we were. At Cleo's house. Not Augusta National. With everyone, except me, so excited to watch the 90th Masters Golf Tournament on Uncle David's big screen TV. For the entire day. Real sport or not.

And that's why I wasn't going to be the center of attention that day. And why I'd either be outside playing on my own or inside. Bored! Because all there was to do was watch golf.

So I'm sure you can understand why I was mad at my Mama. But probably not how mad I was.

Even so, I have manners, and I know how to behave. And I'm also a high performer. So, I would make this work and do what any good guest would under the circumstances. Find a spot in front of the big screen TV. And pretend as convincingly as possible that I was loving every minute I watched of the 90th Masters Golf Tournament at Augusta National. And apparently, from what I'd overheard, everyone, but especially Mama, was rooting for Rory, so I'd have to pretend I was Rory McIlroy's biggest fan, too!

But back to my plan: if at any point I noticed I was running low on pretending stamina, or Aunty Bev wasn't around for some love, I'd go outside and try my best to enjoy all the sniff-worthy grass in Aunty Bev's beautiful garden. And then come back inside and keep pretending, and hopefully this way the day would pass faster than I expected.

But things didn't quite go according to plan. Because even a well-intentioned pup like me has a limit to how often they can keep going outside knowing they will always be out there on their own.

And how long could I pretend not to notice that the only time Mama came out was when Rory was not on the big screen TV?

And fake watching boring balls do stupid things at the 90th Masters Golf Tournament at Augusta National.

Or what was becoming the hardest of all to keep pretending was that my hurt feelings weren't hurt about how some very smart people had been tricked into believing that those boring white balls were more fun than me.  And in Mama's case, it was even worse because I'm convinced she was a Rory fan, not a golf fan.

So, eventually, I just needed to leave. I would rather be home sleeping in my Zen Den than being a fraud, pretending to love something that I definitely did not. So I needed a word with my Mama. In private. Immediately.

And just as I was about to bark to get her attention, the house erupted. Every human in the room launched out of their seat. Cushions flew. Calm, stable people I thought I knew completely lost their minds.

I don't know what happened because, as you know, I wasn't really watching the golf.

But I do know that this outburst alerted me to the fact that there was another memo I had failed to receive. What would the memo have said? That we were no longer Rory McIlroy fans. Ten minutes ago, yes. Now — apparently no longer.

OMD! Blindsided. Again.

And the only reason I figured this out was that I wasn't pretending to watch — I was riveted by all the commotion in the room.

You couldn't avoid it. Everyone was on their feet. Standing an inch from the big screen TV. Screaming at Rory, who I thought we all liked. And there was no mistake on my part that he was the source of all the emotion. He was the only one to be seen on the big screen TV at Augusta National when all the judgments, which were not very kind or encouraging, were being made: OMD! What was he thinking? How did he miss that? That was a rookie mistake. I could have made that shot. He's throwing this away.

And those are just the comments I feel comfortable repeating due to the fact that Toffy's Dog Blog is family-friendly!

I'd never seen other people besides Mama shout at a TV with such emotion. And for sure, I never thought that potential existed in calm Uncle David and always positive Aunty Bev. This was absolutely fascinating to see.

But what was annoying, even for me, fake watching, was not knowing if Rory was our person or not.  Had I wasted all my energy pretending to like the wrong person? Would I have to pretend to like some other golfer now?

I had absolutely no idea. This was another memo I did not receive.

Maybe this is what was needed to make the afternoon become even more interesting now —

But wait! Oh no! Did I bark too soon? Because no sooner was the thought out of my head than things got very, very quiet and boring again.

Mama went to get a snack — during a Rory break. That was like a commercial break except Rory wasn't on the big screen TV, so Mama was about to pull herself away and go do something else. Aunty Bev went to water some plants. Uncle David kept watching. And Cleo looked like she was about to doze off.

Was that it? Was the fun that was just starting over? Then there was definitely no point staying one minute longer, so I got up to go have a word with my Mama. In private. Immediately. To take me home.

But hold on. Not so fast, Mr. Floof Jawno!

As if sensing my plan, my BFF Cleopatra Prada made a move I couldn't ignore. She got up, moved over from where she'd been sitting by maybe an inch or two, and instantly, my direct view was no longer of Rory McIlroy, or Cameron Young, or Justin Rose, or Jason Day. It was of the one and only, most beautiful Cleopatra Prada. I had the best view in the house. 100% unobstructed.

And the crowd was reconvening. There was no longer any need for me to leave.

I'm sure it wouldn't be long before they'd all be yelling at Rory again. Mama really seemed to have made them mad. Mama looked quite furious! It made me wonder if that was how my face had looked all day long! Uncle David wasn't nearly as calm as he usually is. And even Aunty Bev was front and center, commenting on Rory's poor performance.

Apparently, he was the only one who was doing stupid things.

More shouting at Rory, which now made absolutely no sense — because he wasn't even our person anymore.

But he was still getting all of the attention. Just not the nice kind of attention like I always get.

It looks like he's pulled out his back.

No, his feet weren't lined up. No! His swing was off. Yes, because he'd pulled out his back. No, he's just lost his nerve! Ridiculous!

And then it was clear that not only was Rory no longer our person, but he also wasn't the only person coming unhinged. Everyone in the room was unraveling. I was riveted by the scene unfolding — not on the big screen TV but right in front of me. In real-time. Anyone walking into the room would wrongly assume I was the most sane and dedicated golf fan of all!

And then, as quickly as all the commotion started, it seemed to stop. All the yelling and virtual coaching stopped. It looked like everyone turned into a statue! I thought they might have even stopped breathing! Even Cleo was on all four paws. You could hear a pin drop!

What happened? More yelling at Rory. I should have seen that coming.

 More watching beautiful Cleo. As much as possible.

That was when I noticed the most bizarre thing of everything that day. Something so impossible that it would never have crossed my mind to think about.

OMD. I still can hardly believe it! I was having the absolute best time. At a sporting event on a big screen TV. And not just at any sporting event. A GOLF sporting event. With the most boring of all balls. Without any knowledge of the game, its rules, or what had or was then happening at the 90th Masters Golf Tournament at Augusta National — I was having the best time!

My super-smart brain was about to figure out how this was possible when the loudest, most synchronized, ginormous cheer of the day flooded the room. My heart got such a fright, I thought it stopped beating.

And then hugs and high fives all around. And more clapping and cheering.

Rory McIlroy had just won the 90th Masters at Augusta National. How did that happen? He was doing everything wrong? He'd pulled his back out? And now I was totally confused – were we Rory McIlroy fans again?

We must have been, because the happiness factor in the room was bigger than I can describe. And Mama. For sure. Had the biggest smile in the room by far. And even though I was still as mad at her as I was before, I was so happy she was having such a good time, even if she was pretending to be a golf fan when she was really a RORY fan.

And that was when it dropped into my super-smart brain — like a bag of treats falling from heaven.

It wasn't the golf. It wasn't the big screen TV. It wasn't the food — although that was delicious. It was them. My people. Even the one I was still so mad at. Somehow, watching them happy was enough to make me happy too.

I realized I didn't have to love what they loved. I just had to love them.

Like Mama. I'm sure she doesn't always love doing all the things she does with me that I love, but you'd never know it. She always seems happy to do what makes me happy.

And that's what counts. You show up for who's in the room — not what they're doing in the room.

That was Sunday at Cleo's house. The best day of the week. Despite losing my center of attention status to Rory McIlroy and the 90th Masters Golf Tournament at Augusta National.

Toffy xoxo

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