He was not a fetcher. If we threw something he'd go get it but getting it away from him was the challenge. He would growl fiercely if you tried to take something out of his mouth, all the while his tail spinning madly in a circle. Playing keep away or tug of war was something he took great delight in. "You want the ball? Just try and get it from me! I dare you!"
He also liked to grab hold of something like a towel and be spun around, all four paws off the ground. He had jaws like a bear trap. It was a game Dad usually played with him because at 45 pounds he was a little heavy for me.
He was just tall (short?) enough to walk under your knee when you were sitting. This was a cue that he wanted to be scratched at the base of his tail. When you did he'd do a kind of dance with his back feet while you scratched. We called it his cha-cha.
If we went, "Sic 'em Happy! Sssssic," he'd go charging out barking furiously. When he discovered there was nothing to bark at he would pretend he hadn't been fooled. He'd bark, bark, bark for a few minutes then he'd come back all "happy," tail wagging and say, "I chased off those somebodies I don't know. You're safe. Aren't you proud of me?" He loved chasing after non-existent threats.
But his favoritest game was when we went to the beach. Remember he detested water. He wouldn't have gone in even if fire breathing dragons were threatening his life. What he did was play tag. We'd be in the water say, up to our waists, and try to get onto the beach. His job was to prevent that from happening. He would pretend he couldn't see us by turning his head sideways as we tried to sneak out of the water. When we were in knee to ankle deep water Happy would charge at us barking madly at which point we turned tail and ran back into the sea with a great deal of splashing. Himself, of course, would come to a screeching halt right at the point where the waves lapped the sand and prance away before he got his paws wet. He could have played the game indefinitely. When we wanted to get out we had to tell him, "Okay Happy, game's over. Down with the iron claws," else he would leap and rake us and leave us with long whelps.
Here we are at the beach when I was about 15 and Happy was about 10. You can see his funny short tail. Perfect for grabbing hold of and preventing him from charging at a somebody he didn't know. The day this picture was taken the waves were big and I'd been body surfing. My hair is like really wild and tangled.