I don’t just like sticks, I LOVE sticks. When Dad takes me walking or running out on the greenbelt, there are hundreds of sticks everywhere. Not every stick is a keeper though. I’m a little bit picky about ones that I’ll pick up and take with me. It can’t be too big because it can slow me down. Sometimes I’ll pick one up that is too long and I look like some kind of deer with an oversized antler!
The stick must be light enough to float so if we should happen to go by some water I can retrieve it. There have been a couple times when Dad picked up a soggy old stick that sank when he threw it in the water. That was kind of a mean trick but I don’t think he did it on purpose. The perfect stick is one that doesn’t break and can be thrown a long way so I can swim out and retrieve it.