Marie Kondo gets it—you only want the one stick that sparks emotional chaos

The mysterious science of fetch, loyalty, and that one perfect stick

Hoomans, you ever notice how I’ll ignore all the toys you spent your weekend styling, just to obsess over that one scraggly stick from your hand? That’s not bad behaviour—it's advanced stick psychology. Let me explain.

The stick in your hand has value. The rest just sit there.

It could be bent, slimy, splintery, or oddly shaped like a wonky carrot—but if it’s the one you grabbed, I want it like it holds the secret to the fridge door. You see a piece of tree debris. I see treasure validated by your hooman touch. When you select it, chase it, hold it—suddenly it’s sacred.

Toys in my basket? Ghosted. That one “meh” stick you casually picked up mid-walk? Now that’s the Chosen One. I don’t make the rules; my dog brain just... prioritises hooman-certified awesomeness.

"You could dump me in a forest of sticks—but I’ll still want the one you picked up." —Thor

The psychology behind the bark-off (a.k.a. why I get dramatic)

Here’s what we both know—even if there are 100 options around me, once I see you with one of them, I develop sudden and unbearable desire. It’s a combo of FOMO, trust, and something I call pack-based prioritisation (which, yes, I just made up).

• FOMO? Because no stick matters more than the one in your hand right now.
• Pack priority? You’re the alpha snack-dispenser. What matters to you must matter to me.
• Trust? Your scent + the object = safe, fun, and probably snack-adjacent.

Brains like bones: simple but effective

Before you label me a diva, remember: dogs use context to assign value. If you rolled a 2-dollar squeaky duck in the same grass where we play fetch, then tossed it with flair... I’d guard it like national treasure. Not because it’s deluxe, but because it’s now saturated with shared experience. That’s what paints meaning onto the otherwise forgettable.

Also… scent. Everything you touch smells like safety and snack possibilities. Can 100 untouched sticks compete with the one smelling like your sunscreen and confidence? Nope.

Sound familiar?

You do it too. You scroll past a thousand throw cushions until you see one in a room styled by someone you follow. Suddenly, it’s perfect. Same spots, same fluff—but now it’s yours in your mind. Congratulations, you officially fetch like the rest of us.

That’s the real kicker: wanting what someone else reached for isn’t selfish—it’s instinctive. Pack logic says, “If it’s good enough for the top hooman, it’s good enough for the rest of us.” Makes sense now why I snatch your sock when you’re mid-fold. You were touching it. It's chosen.

How to make me obsess (and accidentally train better behaviour)

Want me to actually care about a new toy or bed? Stop introducing it like a catalogue item. Insert YOU into the experience:

• Throw it once during playtime and act like it’s the best thing since liver treats.
• Leave your scent on it (sleep on it if needed, I’m not joking).
• Make it part of a shared activity—not just a solo chew assignment.

Then watch me ditch the 99 options and go paws-first into that one blessed item, as if I’ve been waiting for it all my doggy life.

Here’s the kicker, hoomans

It was never about the stick. It’s about the connection behind it.

Which means the next time I ignore every stylish, curated, Tik-Tok-viral enrichment toy for an old sock you accidentally wore twice... don’t stress. I’m not ignoring your taste—I’m choosing you.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve spotted you holding half a toast crust. Suddenly, that’s the most important object in the world.

Tail wags and stick battles,
Thor 🐾

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