Alright, folks, buckle up because today’s project was wild: getting dogs to actually play golf. Yeah, you heard me right.
So, I woke up this morning thinking, “Dogs fetch balls, golf has balls… how hard could it be?” Right? Wrong. My brain was definitely not fully online yet. I grabbed Max, my super energetic Border Collie, and Charlie, my goofy Golden Retriever, and headed out back where I’d set up a tiny little putting green ages ago (mostly unused).
First things first, I needed dog-sized clubs. No way I was letting them near my good stuff. Ended up hacking together these ridiculous mini-clubs using PVC pipe and some sturdy plastic plates I glued on for club heads. Looked ridiculous but seemed sturdy enough for some gentle whacking.
Then came the balls. Tennis balls? Too bouncy. Actual golf balls? Way too hard, worried about teeth. Found these dense foam practice balls I had lying around – perfect. Safe for enthusiastic mouths.
Okay, showtime. Got Max and Charlie all excited, squeaky toy hype session and everything. I plonked a foam ball down, positioned Max gently, and tried to guide his paws onto my franken-club. Picture this: me kneeling, awkwardly trying to hold a dog and a club. Max immediately decided the club was the best chew toy ever. Grabbed the shaft and started tug-o-war with me. Charlie, seeing the fun, tried to join in by flopping on top of us both. So much for posture lessons.
Took like five minutes just to reclaim the club. Shifted strategy fast. Forget holding the club with them. Duh. Took the club myself, gently tapped a ball towards the “hole” (a repurposed flower pot). Max, being the fetch king he is, saw a moving ball and INSTANTLY sprinted after it. Pounced! Grabbed it triumphantly. Brought it right back… to me. Dropped it at my feet, tail going a million miles an hour, expecting praise. Which, honestly, he got. Good boy! Charlie just watched the ball roll, tilted his head like it was the weirdest thing ever, then wandered off to sniff a bush.
Realization hit: teaching dogs the concept of golf, aiming and swinging, was pure fantasy. But the ball moving? That triggered instinct. So, Plan B: Forget the putting. Let’s make it a driving range, kinda. I grabbed my duct-tape-special club and just started lightly hitting foam balls into the yard. Chaos ensued. Max became a furry green-seeking missile, scrambling after every shot, catching them mid-air sometimes, sometimes just chasing the roll. Pure, unadulterated joy. He’d bring them back, drop them near me, and practically vibrate waiting for the next one. Charlie? He eventually decided chasing Max, who was chasing balls, was way more fun than balls themselves. Started play-bowing and barking at Max during the sprints. Hilarious. Focus gone, but happiness levels maxed out.
Ended the session with two panting, grinning idiots covered in grass stains. They weren’t lining up putts or reading the green, obviously. My DIY clubs were slightly gnawed. But did we achieve “dogs golfing”? In the absolute loosest, messiest, dog-logic way possible: absolutely. They chased balls I “drove.” They interacted with the golf environment I created. They had a total blast doing doggy things inspired by golf. Sometimes you gotta adjust the goalposts. Or in this case, just let the dogs run amok. I call that a win. We all got what we came for: exercise, fun, and some seriously goofy memories. Would I call it a structured success? Nope. But 100% worth the attempt.
