VO: A punctured tennis ball, as fun as a deflated bouncy castle. Disowned like the uncle who moved to Acapulco and blew the family money on a camel farm.
Since the ball’s heady days of being jammed into a polyester pocket, agonisingly close to another furry ball, things have gotten worse.
Its once pristine hair is now matted like a method actor portraying a man lost at sea.
Its lower half stuck so deep into the mud, it’s taken root like a couch potato’s bottom.
Despite this there’s someone who’d still love to have a rally.
SFX: Dog barked.
VO: Once the ball’s discovered, a game of fetch will be insisted upon.
SFX: Dog panting and mumbling happily.
VO: Each catch infusing your dogs mouth with the ball’s scent of Eau Du Toilet.
Thankfully before the affectionate post-match lick, you can freshen your dog’s breath with Pedigree Dentaflex, leaving their mouth as sparkling as the tennis trophy you never won.