That is a broken tennis ball. Hollow inside. But it seems Scooter has just discovered that.
Scooter is my house dog, lives a shallow life as my neighbour has described. If you throw a tennis ball, he would chase it down as fast as he could and bring the ball back. But instead of pass the ball back to me, he would start biting it like how he normally bites the bones. Tear all the fur apart from the ball and cut through the rubber with his teeth. Until it can no longer be recognised as a ball, and then he would leave it and do something else. That's just part of activities that he would like to do, and so far he has chewed through quite a few balls of ours.
Not the kind of dog that the owner can be proud of.
Meaningless, meaningless, meaningless. Sweeping the autumn leaves is utterly meaningless. You gathered them together. You picked them up and put into the bin. Then the wind blows and leaves fall. The cycle waits to be repeated again.
But there's little I can do. Neighbour's tree with branches high above the fences. D'oh.
I've set up a composit bin in the garden on Saturday morning, and I'll start dumping things in it. Gotta start an earthworm production business soon.