Ballf

Daddy and I share a passion for Ballf. In fact, it's my favorite sport. The funny thing is that Daddy keeps calling it "golf" rather than the more sensible name ballf. After all, it's played with a wonderful little ball; hence it seems sensible that ball should be somewhere in the name--ballf.

While I have my own set of clubs, I prefer Daddy's clubs. In fact, my favorite club is the putter, which also happens to be a word I can actually say, "puddah". We get out Daddy's putting green and line the balls up about 3 feet from the hole. Then I take the putter (I choke up on it a lot) and Daddy helps to guide my stroke to putt the balls into the hole. I love it when I sink these three footers. I like to make a little jump for joy with the putter in my hand.

In addition to putting, the other great thing about ballf is organizing the balls. Two days ago, I gout out my dump truck and loaded it with freight---golf balls. Then Daddy would help the truck back up to the unloading area, the hole on the putting green, and unload the freight into the hole. The balls would go into the hole and then slide along the return shoot back to the loading area where we would take the dump truck to get another haul of golf balls.

I'm also getting pretty good at counting the balls. The highest I've gotten up to is to count four golf balls, though there seem to be a lot more than that.

Ballf is a truly great sport. A feast for the mind and the body.