A Day in the Life: Me, My Dog, and the CuHurl (An Honest Irish Account)
By Cupooch
Photo by Ralph
6:47 AM - The Awakening
Right, so I'm not a morning person. Never have been. But Mick – my three-year-old Border Collie who thinks he's Cú Chulainn reincarnated – doesn't care about my feelings.
He's standing beside the bed, staring at me with those eyes. You know the ones. The "I've been awake for exactly forty-seven minutes and I've counted every one of them" eyes.
"Alright, alright," I mutter, rolling out of bed. "Jaysus, you'd swear I was keeping you prisoner."
Mick does this thing where his entire back end wags, not just the tail. It's like watching a furry helicopter preparing for takeoff. No subtlety whatsoever.
I shuffle downstairs in yesterday's tracksuit bottoms (don't judge me), and he's already at the back door doing his "I need out IMMEDIATELY" dance. The thing is, he doesn't actually need to go. He just wants to inspect the garden for any unauthorized cats or particularly offensive leaves that might have fallen overnight.
"Go on so," I say, opening the door.
He shoots out like he's been fired from a cannon. Does three laps of the garden at full speed – what the young ones call "zoomies" – and then comes back looking at me like "right, what's next?"
What's next is breakfast, but he knows that. He's just checking if I've forgotten. I haven't. I've been doing this for three years. The routine is burned into my brain like the lyrics to The Fields of Athenry.
7:15 AM - Breakfast and Philosophy
I make myself a cup of tea – proper Barry's, none of that fancy stuff – and measure out Mick's breakfast. He sits perfectly, because Border Collies are like that. Show-offs, the lot of them.
"Good lad yourself," I tell him, setting down the bowl.
He inhales it in approximately 4.7 seconds and then looks at me like I've starved him for a week.
"That's it. That's what the vet said. Don't be giving me those eyes."
But here's the thing about dogs – they're brilliant at making you feel like you're the worst person alive for following proper feeding guidelines. It's a gift, really.
I have my own breakfast (two slices of toast, bit of butter, I'm not an animal), and Mick lies at my feet radiating judgment about the fact that I'm not sharing.
"You've been fed, ya chancer. Stop acting the maggot."
He sighs. An actual sigh. Like I'M the problem here.
8:00 AM - The Main Event: Morning Fetch
Right, this is where the day properly starts. Before I got the CuHurl, morning "fetch" was me standing in the back garden in my dressing gown, throwing a manky tennis ball about fifteen feet while Mick looked at me like I was insulting his intelligence.
"Is that it?" his face would say. "I'm a WORKING dog. I've HERITAGE. I need JOBS."
But sure, what could I do? My arm's not exactly championship material. I threw out my shoulder once trying to impress him with a long throw. Ended up at the physio explaining that yes, I injured myself playing with my dog. Scarlet for me.
Then I got the CuHurl.
Game changer doesn't even cover it.
I grab it from beside the back door (it's got its own spot now, like a hurley in a GAA household), scoop up a CuBall from the basket, and head out to the garden.
Mick knows what's coming. He's already doing that crouched, ready-to-explode thing that Border Collies do. Pure focus. Like he's about to herd the most important sheep of his life, except the sheep is a leather ball and the field is my back garden in Tallaght.
"Ready?"
He barks once. That's a yes.
I swing the CuHurl – proper hurling technique, like my uncle showed me – and the ball flies. I mean FLIES. Over fifty meters, easy. It clears the back fence (we've got a big garden, thank Christ) and lands in the field behind.
Mick is GONE. Absolute bullet. He clears the low fence in one leap and retrieves the ball before it's even finished bouncing.
This is what he was bred for. This is his PURPOSE.
He brings it back, drops it at my feet (because I've trained him properly, unlike some eejits whose dogs just keep the ball), and immediately goes into ready position again.
"Again?"
Bark.
We do this twenty times. TWENTY. And here's the thing – I'm not even tired. The CuHurl does the work. I'm just providing the motion. A hurler's heart in every toss, as they say.
Mick, on the other hand, is LIVING. This is zoomies with purpose. This is what his ancestors did on Scottish hillsides. Except with sheep. And probably less dramatic bouncing.
After twenty throws, I call it. "Last one!"
He knows "last one" means I'm serious. He brings the ball back and does this full-body shake that sprays mud everywhere (it rained last night, because of course it did – works in Irish weather, tested in lashing rain).
"You're pure gas, you know that?"
He wags.
We head inside. He's panting happy pants, not stressed pants. There's a difference. Happy pants are loose and smiley. Stressed pants are tight and worried.
Mick's definitely happy.
9:30 AM - The Post-Fetch Collapse
This is my favorite part of the day.
Mick, who thirty minutes ago was a furry missile of pure energy, is now COMATOSE on the couch beside me. Proper zonked. Tongue out, paws twitching (he's probably dreaming about more fetch – they always are), absolutely knackered in the best way.
Chase, Chew, Chill – that's the formula. He's done the chase, he's had a chew on his breakfast, now he's in full chill mode.
This is what people don't understand about high-energy dogs. They don't need to be busy ALL the time. They need proper exercise that actually TIRES them out, and then they're happy to relax.
Before the CuHurl, Mick was a nightmare. Couldn't settle. Always looking for something to do. Destructive, even. Ate two couch cushions and the corner of the coffee table. I thought I'd made a terrible mistake getting a Border Collie.
But I hadn't. I'd just been doing fetch wrong.
No more couch paw-tatos, as the CuPooch lads say. Now Mick gets proper exercise, and the couch is safe. Everyone wins.
I've got a bit of work to do (I work from home, which is both brilliant and torture when you've got a dog), so having him settled is essential. I open the laptop and Mick doesn't even lift his head.
Perfect.
12:30 PM - Lunchtime Walk (The Social Hour)
Right, so technically Mick doesn't NEED another walk. He's had his fetch session. But I need to get out of the house before I lose my mind staring at spreadsheets, and he's always up for a walk.
We head to the local park – Phoenix Park, because I'm lucky enough to live close. It's MASSIVE (1,750 acres, bigger than most Irish towns), and it's dog paradise.
On the way, we pass Mrs. O'Brien from number 47. She's got a Yorkie called Princess who weighs about the same as a large potato and has the personality of a particularly judgmental nun.
"Lovely day!" Mrs. O'Brien calls.
"Soft day for a hard throw!" I call back, because I'm hilarious and also slightly obsessed with CuHurl catchphrases now.
She looks confused. Princess yaps. Mick ignores both of them with the dignity of a dog who knows he's superior.
At the park, we run into the usual crew. There's a loose community of dog walkers who show up around the same time every day. We don't know each other's names, but we know the dogs.
"Mick! How'ya, boy!" That's Seamus (I think? Or is it John?) with his two Labs.
"Howyeh, hound!" That's definitely Mary with her German Shepherd.
The dogs do their sniffing ritual (checking the gossip, basically), and we humans stand around talking about the weather (fierce mild for October) and work (pure shite altogether) and dogs (aren't they brilliant?).
Someone asks about the CuHurl, which is clipped to my belt.
"What's the story with the hurley yoke?"
I light up like it's Christmas. This is my moment.
"Ah, this? Game changer, mate. Puck it out – throws fifty meters, easy. No slobber on your hands, saves your back, and the dog actually gets tired. From Croke Park to your local park, like."
I demonstrate by loading a CuBall and sending it flying across the open field. Mick is OFF like a rocket. The other dogs watch with interest. Their owners watch with VERY interested.
"Where'd you get that?"
"CuPooch. Irish company. Made in Ireland, loved in every field. Recycled plastic, too. Sound gear for sound dogs."
I'm not even being paid for this endorsement. I'm just genuinely evangelical about proper fetch now. It's changed our lives.
Mick brings the ball back and immediately focuses on me again. "More?" his eyes say.
"Later, boy. We're socializing now."
He sighs but accepts it. He's good like that.
2:00 PM - Afternoon Work Session (With Interruptions)
Back home, back to work. Mick's on the couch again, this time with his head on my lap while I try to type around him.
This is the thing about working from home with a dog – they don't understand "work hours." To them, you're just... home. Available. Why aren't you paying attention to them?
"Mick, I need to finish this report."
He looks at me.
"Don't give me those eyes. You've been walked. You've been fetched. You're living your best life."
He puts his paw on my laptop keyboard, which is his subtle way of saying "your priorities are wrong."
"Fine. Five minutes."
I scratch behind his ears for five minutes. He makes these little groaning sounds of pure contentment. Border Collies might be intense working dogs, but they're also absolute saps for affection.
"Right, that's it. I actually have to work now."
He settles back down, satisfied. He's won this round and he knows it.
5:00 PM - The Evening Session: Double Ball Madness
Work's done (mostly), and it's time for evening fetch. This is the BIG session. This is where we really put in the work.
I grab the CuHurl and TWO CuBalls. That's right. We're going dual-ball mode.
This is where things get MENTAL.
The dual-ball technique is simple but genius: while Mick's bringing back ball one, I load and throw ball two. He sees it flying, speeds up with the first ball, drops it, and tears after the second one. Continuous motion. No downtime. Pure cardio.
Busy day? CuHurl does the legwork. Double balls, double burn.
We're out in the field behind the house (I've got permission from the farmer, I'm not just trespassing like a gouger), and we're going HARD.
Throw. Sprint. Retrieve. Drop. Throw. Sprint. Retrieve. Drop.
Mick is IN THE ZONE. This is what Border Collies dream about. This is their cocaine. Pure, focused, purposeful WORK.
I'm keeping count. We hit thirty throws. THIRTY. And he's still going.
"Last two!" I call.
I throw both balls in different directions. He gets the first, brings it back, then gets the second. He drops them both at my feet and looks up at me with this expression that's pure joy.
Fetch with benefits, right there. He's fit, he's happy, he's mentally stimulated. And I've barely broken a sweat because the CuHurl does the heavy lifting.
We head back inside. He's TIRED. Proper tired. The good tired.
Hurl, Howl, Hibernate – that's tonight's plan, apparently. He's moving straight to the hibernate phase.
6:30 PM - Dinner Time (For Both of Us)
I make dinner (spag bol, nothing fancy) while Mick lies in his bed in the kitchen watching me like I'm performing surgery.
"It's just pasta, mate. Not a Michelin star situation."
He doesn't care. All food is fascinating to him. He once watched me make a cup of tea for ten minutes straight like it was the most compelling thing he'd ever witnessed.
I measure out his dinner – proper portions, because we're not having a repeat of the Pet Obesity Awareness conversation – and he does his perfect sit again.
"Good lad."
He eats. I eat. We're both content.
This is the thing about having a dog – your life has RHYTHM. Wake up, fetch, walk, fetch, dinner, chill. It's routine, but it's good routine. It's routine with purpose.
8:00 PM - Evening Chill (The Sound Bit)
This is the best part of the day, if I'm honest.
Mick's on the couch beside me (he's not technically ALLOWED on the couch, but we both know that rule went out the window about two years ago). I've got the telly on (some shite reality show that I'm not really watching), and he's got his head on my leg.
He's ZONKED. Proper out-of-it tired. This is what happens when a dog gets proper exercise.
I scratch his ears absentmindedly. He makes that groaning sound again – the contented one.
"You're some eejit, d'you know that?" I tell him.
His tail thumps once against the couch. That's agreement.
"But you're MY eejit."
Thump thump.
This is it, isn't it? This is what people mean when they say dogs make life better. It's not complicated. It's not philosophical. It's just... THIS.
A tired, happy dog. A quiet evening. Simple companionship.
There's no fetch like home fetch, as someone clever once said. And they were absolutely right.
10:00 PM - Final Garden Check
Before bed, Mick needs one last trip to the garden. Just a quick one – not a fetch session, just a wee and a sniff.
He pads outside, does his business (good lad), and then stands in the middle of the garden looking up at the sky.
I follow his gaze. Clear night, decent bit of stars visible despite the light pollution.
"What're you looking at, boy?"
He glances at me, then back at the sky. Just taking it in, I suppose.
Dogs live in the moment in a way humans can't quite manage. He's not thinking about tomorrow's fetch session or yesterday's walk. He's just... here. Now. Present.
We stand there for a minute – me in my slippers, him in his fur – just looking at the sky together.
"Right, c'mon. Bedtime."
He follows me back inside. He knows the routine.
10:30 PM - Bedtime
Mick's got a bed in my room (officially HIS bed, though he tries to sneak onto mine every single night).
"Bed," I tell him firmly.
He goes to his bed, circles three times (it's apparently a law that dogs must circle before lying down), and settles in.
I get into my bed, turn off the light.
Two minutes pass.
I feel weight on the end of the bed. He's snuck up. Classic move.
"Mick..."
He doesn't move. He's committed now.
"Ah, go on so."
He shifts position so he's taking up as much space as possible while also ensuring maximum contact with my legs. It's impressive, really.
I lie there in the dark, listening to him breathe. Steady, peaceful breathing. A tired dog is a happy dog.
Tomorrow we'll do it all again. Wake up, fetch, walk, fetch, chill. The rhythm continues.
And I wouldn't change a single thing.
Well, maybe I'd like him to stop stealing my pillows. But other than that.
What I've Learned Living With a High-Energy Dog and a CuHurl
Right, so if you've read this far, you're probably wondering if I'm getting paid by CuPooch to write this (I am, actually – full disclosure). But here's the thing: I genuinely mean every word.
Before the CuHurl, I was struggling. Mick was destructive, anxious, never settled. I thought I'd made a mistake getting a Border Collie. I thought maybe I wasn't cut out for dog ownership.
But the problem wasn't Mick. It wasn't even me. It was that I was trying to meet his needs with inadequate tools.
Stop acting the maggot on the couch, right? I was half-arsing fetch. Short throws, low energy, inconsistent. And wondering why my working dog was losing his mind.
The CuHurl fixed that. Not because it's magic, but because it:
- Lets me throw proper distances (50+ meters consistently)
- Keeps me from getting injured (no more shoulder problems)
- Makes fetch FUN again (for both of us)
- Actually tires him out (20-30 minutes of CuHurl = exhausted dog)
- Builds our bond (shared activity, quality time)
Chase the craic, not the kilos. We're both fitter. We're both happier. And the craic is genuinely mighty.
The Honest Bit: It's Not Just About the Gear
Look, I could give you all the catchphrases in the world:
- Deadly fetch, deadly fit
- Mighty craic for mutts
- Savage fetch for savage dogs
- This yoke is deadly
And they're all true. The CuHurl IS class. But here's what really matters:
You have to show up.
The CuHurl makes it easier. It makes it more effective. It makes it sustainable (literally – recycled plastic – and figuratively – you won't hurt yourself).
But YOU still have to get off the couch. YOU still have to go outside even when it's raining (and it's ALWAYS raining). YOU still have to prioritize your dog's needs.
The gear helps. But the commitment is yours.
Mick doesn't care if I'm tired. He doesn't care if I've had a rough day at work. He doesn't care if it's lashing rain and I'd rather stay inside.
He needs exercise. He needs stimulation. He needs PURPOSE.
And because I love the gobshite, I provide that. Every single day.
The CuHurl just makes it possible to do it properly.
What Your Day Could Look Like
You don't need a Border Collie. You don't need a big garden. You don't even need to live near Phoenix Park.
But if you've got a dog and you're willing to put in the effort, your day could look like mine:
Morning: Proper fetch session (20-30 minutes)
Midday: Walk and socialization (30-60 minutes)
Evening: Another fetch session (20-30 minutes)
Night: Cuddles and contentment
Total active time: About 2 hours spread across the day.
The payoff:
- A fit, healthy dog
- A calm, settled dog
- A HAPPY dog
- A deeper bond with your best mate
- You're fitter too (walkies count as exercise)
- Peace of mind knowing you're doing right by them
Worth it?
Absolutely.
The CuPooch Promise (In Plain English)
Right, so CuPooch sent me a list of catchphrases to include. Here they are, with my honest take on each:
"Chase the craic, not the kilos" – TRUE. Exercise should be fun, not punishment.
"No more couch paw-tatos" – ACCURATE. Get your dog moving.
"A hurler's heart in every toss" – FACTUAL. The technique genuinely helps.
"Trim tails, happy hurls" – FIT dogs are HAPPY dogs. Science backs this.
"Not just grand, mighty grand" – IT IS ACTUALLY MIGHTY GRAND.
"Your dog will be gas with this" – CAN CONFIRM. Mick is gas.
"Savage fetch for savage dogs" – IF YOUR DOG IS INTENSE, THIS HELPS.
"Sound gear for sound dogs" – QUALITY MATTERS. This is quality.
"From Croke Park to your local park" – WORKS EVERYWHERE. City, country, beach, field.
"Rain, hail, or shine, we're hurlin'" – WEATHERPROOF. I've used it in biblical rain.
"Better than a bag of Tayto" – OKAY THIS ONE'S A STRETCH. Nothing beats Tayto. But it's close.
"Made in Ireland, loved in every field" – GENUINELY IRISH-MADE. That matters.
"Deadly for dogs, deadly for Earth" – ECO-FRIENDLY. Recycled materials. Sustainable.
"Fair play to your pup" – THEY DESERVE QUALITY. This is it.
"Ah sure it's grand" – IT'S BETTER THAN GRAND. But we're Irish, so we understate.
"Lead on, legend" – YOU'RE THE LEGEND. The CuHurl just helps you be legendary.
There. Catchphrases delivered. Marketing done. Now let's get back to what matters.
The Final Word: Your Dog Is Waiting
Right, I've told you about my day with Mick. I've explained how the CuHurl changed things for us. I've been honest about the work involved and the payoff you get.
Now it's your turn.
Your dog is lying there right now, probably looking at you, wondering when something interesting is going to happen.
You could:
- Scroll social media for another hour (they'll still be waiting)
- Watch another episode of whatever (they'll still be hoping)
- Tell yourself you'll do it tomorrow (they don't understand tomorrow)
OR you could:
- Get up right now
- Grab whatever fetch toy you have (or order a CuHurl if you're being sensible)
- Head outside (yes, even if it's raining)
- Throw the ball
- Watch your dog's face light up
- Do it again
- And again
- Until they're tired and happy and fulfilled
There's no fetch like home fetch.
But you have to actually DO it.
Your dog doesn't need perfection. They don't need fancy gear (though it helps). They don't need Instagram-worthy adventures.
They need YOU. Present. Engaged. Playing with them.
Everything else is just details.
So go on. Walkies? We're game.
Your dog's been waiting patiently.
Don't make them wait any longer.
Sláinte to you and your hound! 🐕🏑💚
P.S. - From Mick
[If Mick could write, he'd probably say something like this]:
Right, so my human wrote all that, and it's mostly accurate except for a few bits:
- I don't "steal" pillows. They're communal property.
- I'm not "intense." I'm APPROPRIATELY ENTHUSIASTIC.
- The couch-eating incident was a one-time thing and I've apologized (in my own way).
- Yes, I love the CuHurl. It throws far, it's consistent, and it doesn't smell like chemicals like those tennis balls did.
- But mostly, I love that my human shows up every day and plays with me. Even when he's tired. Even when it's raining. Even when he'd rather stay in bed.
That's all a dog really wants: someone who shows up.
The CuHurl just makes the showing up more fun.
Woof. I mean, sláinte.
