Pickles doesn't care if Gus has the ball. The game just makes her smile.
And she has a lot to say. Constantly. It is her job to talk. Always. Loudly.
Unless they have lost the ball. Then she concentrates. If she finds it first (she has a much better nose for that sort of thing than Gus) she gets to carry it. As long and as far as she chooses.
My ball, Gus. You had it last!
I'll follow you to the ends of the earth, Pickles. I'm on you like stink on a skunk! Like quills on a porky. I get to give it back to Mom.
And we repeat the whole thing until
Pickles raises her right paw and calls time out. Then we go in, get coffee, and breakfast and lots of sympathy for Pickles and her sore foot which has undergone instant healing at the suggestion of breakfast.
(She gets a little Bayer too, but don't tell her).