Here's an AMAZING story:

I leave work for lunch. Come home. Once inside the house I'm greeted by Bailey and Gunther. A Jack-Russel and a Rat Terrier respectively. I'm the first person they've seen since dawn.
Tails wag, circles are run, barks are barked.
They're excited.
I look in the mirror, stroke my moustache in admiration and say, "Can't blame ya for feelin' that way, fellas."
Bailey's lookin' at me, eyes wide, tail movin' a million miles a minute. I look outside. The sun's shining. It's fifty some-odd degrees. I look back at Bailey. His stare is now joined by Gunther's. Both await anxiously. I look back out the window. Then back at my audience. I nod, saying, "Today's your lucky day, boys."
Tails wag, circles are run, barks are barked.
They're excited.
My backyard is host to a surplus of frisbees and assorted balls. The dogs run off, split up, take their pick. Bailey returns, a mangled yellow disc in his mouth. In his five years, this dog has seen more frisbees than me in my twenty-two. Yet, for some reason his first choice is always the yellow frisbee that no longer flies straight; is no longer circular; just a flat disc with holes on the edge where fangs gnawed plastic. Gunther trots up with a split tennis ball, string dangling from his mouth. Both are looking for action.
Bailey plays wiseguy games. Sets the frisbee down. Beckons you with his eyes. "Come on, get it" he says without saying a word. I reach for the disc. So does he. He's faster. This time.
I turn my attention on Gunther, grab the ball from his mouth, launch it. I no sooner wipe the dirt from my fingers and he's back for another toss. We repeat this a few times while Bailey watches. That's my wiseguy game. He gets the point, finally giving up the frisbee.
I grab it, holding the frisbee perpendicular to the ground, cock my arm back and whip forward. The frisbee spins, turns, flips, rights itself and floats back to Earth, only to find itself in the clutches of Bailey's jaw. Victorious, he throws his head left to right. If that frisbee were a cat it'd be dead. The cycle of throwing frisbee then ball repeats, alternating between dogs.
Then disaster strikes.
I throw the frisbee. A gust of wind catches, lifts, it. The disc is caught, but not by Bailey. It sits flat, cradled by branches. Eyes to the sky, Bailey stops running, begins circling the tree. His glance meets mine. Terror-stricken, he looks back up to the disc now fifteen feet out of reach.
Cold sweat starts on my forehead. I gulp. Close my eyes. Say, just loud enough to be heard by God, "Don't let it phase you, Dragonfly." My eyes open. I know what must be done.
"Gunther, come hither!" I yell and the Rat Terrier's long legs deliver him to me. I look back, check on Bailey. He's almost in a frenzy now. Yipping to the sky, to God, to return him his most prized posession; the yellow frisbee. Meanwhile Gunther's in a frenzy of his own.
I called for him. He came. What would I do now?
I bend down, pry the ball from his mouth amid growls. Watching me toss it gently up and down, Gunther loses his cool. Starts jumping. Christ, I'm 5'8" and that son of a bitch is reaching my shoulders, no problem. I know what must be done. I get in the zone. No. Not Auto Zone. THE zone.
From forty feet back I gotta knock that frisbee down. I gotta or else where will Bailey be? Who will he look up to? I shudder. Close my eyes again. This time, I picture Pamela Anderson. NAKED. She's standing behind a beer pong table, a pyramid of cups before her. She's staring me down, licking her lips, says, "Nail the shot Dragonfly. NAIL IT."
Eyes still closed I nod, this time cracking a smile. After all, collagen, silicone, Hepatitis C; what more could a guy want? I think about the guys lucky enough to have boned her; Tommy Lee, Kid Rock; and wish I was half as cool as them. Then I open my eyes.
Still nodding, I squeeze dirt, saliva, and other juices from the tennis ball. I throw. I watch.
I watch the ball float. I watch the ball hit a branch. I watch the branch shake. I watch the frisbee tilt. I watch the frisbee fall.
FUCKING. AMAZING.
Bailey catches it, snaps his neck back and forth, growling in triumph. He runs toward me, alongside Gunther.
Tails wag, circles are run, barks are barked.
They're excited.
I'm excited.
I return to work content with the knowledge that I'm a winner.