I have a problem with my balls.

No, it's not what you're thinking. This is not a physical issue; my family jewels were relegated to the veterinarian's incinerator many years ago – which I know you all find surprising, considering my exuberant levels of manliness.
The balls I refer to are those of the tennis variety. You should know that I am a superb tennis ball retriever and I would excel at Stanley Street or Wimbledon – although I do have problems keeping the tight white shorts around my ample derriere. Beach cricket is my favourite game in the whole world, outside of compost bin inspections.
I draw the line at swingball. All those circles tend to make my brain a bit wooozy and yes, that does have three Os.
I once grabbed the ball of a top player at Te Puna's tennis courts when it strayed the wrong side of the fence. Of course he pleaded in a very shrill voice for me to let go, but I was determined to deliver them back to the court. I hear his service has never been the same since. In fact, it's said he's now batting for the other team. But I digress.
The ball issue is to do with the quality and longevity of tennis balls. Many years ago the boss stopped me mauling them because it was rumoured the fibre was bad for my teeth. Well I've been carrying so many rocks in recent years, the impact of a few minor tennis ball fibres hardly rates. Plus the odd cat's backside that has unfortunately needed a curry-up.
Now it seems tennis balls are back in vogue for dogs. In fact, we have one of those fancy long-handled thrower things that Animates gave me a few years ago. My cousin Holly in London has one too. In fact, all the discerning canines have them these days. (Except maybe Huff, who is actually smaller than a tennis ball, but has an ego the size of a basketball.)
The problem is I can chew right through a Slazenger in a matter of seconds.
The boss once had an industrial-strength tennis ball, which lasted a few weeks before I managed to render it into peanut size chips. Since then we've had a succession of so-called 'tough” tennis balls that have succumbed to my jowls like marshmallows in a gin trap.
The boss is nearly at desperation point. He's resorted to throwing lemons in the long armed thrower, because the budget for tennis balls at my rate of consumption is sending the household broke faster than a politician can say 'ticket for two”.
So if anyone out there knows the answer, short of having the remains of my stumpy teeth extracted, please drop me a line. Soon.
Lemons might throw okay, but they just don't taste the same.

'Barbecued Steak'

Ingredients
1kg barbecue steak
1 small onion
7 cloves garlic
½ cup olive oil
½ cup vinegar
½ cup soy sauce
2 Tbsp chopped fresh rosemary
2 Tbsp Dijon mustard
2 tsp salt
1 tsp black pepper

Method
Place onion, garlic, olive oil, vinegar, soy sauce, rosemary, mustard, salt and pepper into a food processor and process until smooth. Place steak in a large re-sealable bag and pour marinade over. Seal and refrigerate for three hours.
Preheat grill to high heat. Brush grill grate with oil. Discard marinade and place steak on prepared grill. Cook for seven minutes on each side, or to desired temperature.

'Blue Denim'

Ingredients
½ oz bourbon
½ oz dry vermouth
2 dashes Angostura bitters
dash blue curacao

Method
Fill mixing glass with ice. Add dry vermouth, bourbon, bitters and blue curacao.
Shake and strain into a rocks glass filled with ice. Garnish with a twist of lemon.