This is what Goblin does:

When we are walking, she is always on the prowl for opportunity. Her eyes dart everywhere; her ears are cocked in their most alert position; she sniffs the air and ground, leaving no stone unturned. Finally, she spots something—a squirrel, a nighttime squirrel, a mouse, a dog she thinks she can beat up (which is all of them)—and she leaps into action, straining at the leash, clawing at the ground, doing everything possible to get at it! If she chases a squirrel up a tree, she waits under that tree. If she chases a nighttime squirrel into a hole, she waits by that hole. Finally, I have to pull her away, but she resists with all her might. She is focused. She is aquiver with determination. She doesn’t care what anyone says.

Finally we’re walking again, but she is turning around, eager for one last glimpse. She is trying to go back, to seize the day. Abruptly, when she realizes it’s truly hopeless, she whirls around. It is a contemptuous whirl, an “I didn’t want it anyway!” whirl. Her irritation continues for a few moments, but then I see the ears perk up again, the eyes begin to dart, the nose start pulsating as it takes in new smells. She is on the prowl for the next opportunity, her previous failure utterly forgotten.

There’s a lesson in there somewhere.