I love my Kong.
It loves me.
I give it lots of kisses.
I get this special dome-headed, zipped-up-eyes look of concentrated ecstasy.
The Kong is Mum's secret weapon. When I've been hyper for too long, harrassed the cats, annihilated a couple of cardboard boxes, knocked over Mum's beer bottle, tried to sneak some of Dad's dinner, barked at my imaginary friend, done enough training to be bored of it, chased the cats again, dug up the carpet, dropped a bad fart, bitten the sofa, raided the kitchen worktop for the fiftieth time, emptied the waste paper bin looking for beer bottle tops, raided the recycling bins under the stairs, chewed the wooden frame of the futon and thrown my bed around a bit...
...when none of that has worn me out, Mum gets out the Kong. Peace descends upon the land. They get to watch some tv. Newt settles down between them on the sofa for a snooze. All is well for twenty minutes.
Just in case you wondered, that was a shortened list of my nightly activities. I like to keep them on their toes.
Favourite filler for my Kong is live greek yoghurt diluted with water and frozen. Peanut butter comes close second. If only Mum could find a surefire way to plug the little hole while pouring things in to freeze.