Ramsey was a fine fella. He was a ball catcher extraordinaire and was proud of his talents in that regard. We used to go to the Stern Grove concert meadow (prohibited) and I would take off the long leash I had him on (so I could extricate him from a fight–he was not aggressive but was not afraid to fight back for real or perceived attacks) so it would not get caught in a tight spot.

He would rush up the amphitheater of seats to the ball, sometimes catching it on the bounce, and then race back down the steps/seats that were varying heights and space between them as adept and agile as could be. If I had the ball and launcher, he would pester me till I threw the ball. Mostly we went to large open spaces at McLaren, Glen Park, or Funston, and he would wander off to smell this or that, always aware of where I was. I kept a whistle in case he was out of sight, and he would come when he heard it. A few times when he had found tasty garbage (e.g. pork chop bones), he wouldn’t rush back, but eventually he came. Once at McLaren, he took off after a coyote, coming back a few minutes later all excited, as if he was telling me with words too fast to get out of his mouth, “Did you see that coyote run!? Boy, I had him!” And then he took of again. Meanwhile, I’m calling out, blowing the whistle like crazy. He always came back. I would tell people that we had an understanding–I let him explore and he comes when I call or blow the whistle (usually).

He was good at finding balls, too. I purchased only about half a dozen of the 23 balls he left behind. He could rummage in brush and brambles and come up with a ball. If I threw the ball in water, he couldn’t not go in. Otherwise, he didn’t initiate a swim, even though he was a good swimmer, with webbed feet as a true water dog. He would even go into waves to get the ball, seeing it then navigating the waves till he could pounce on it.
-Barrie & Peter G.