in vain.

Woman holding a slightly muddy stick in her right hand, raised at an angle of an enthusiastic Roman salute. Body straight and statue-like.
At her feet a dog. A Hovawart, body tense, ready to bolt. Head towards woman’s hand, eyes fixed on stick.
Woman sways stick every few seconds, backwards then forward, as if about to throw it. On every movement forward, Hovawart’s legs flex with a jerk, dog almost jumps ahead. Its muscles relax as woman reclines hand, still holding stick.
She continues back-and-forth movement with hand, oblivious to passers-by in busy city park. Hovawart desperately waiting to see stick fly from woman’s hand so it can make a dash for stick and retrieve it. Dog’s tongue out, eyes darting between stick and woman’s face, it finally tires and sits. Confused, unconvinced of the legitimacy of its action. Woman carries on swinging stick. A minute goes by. Hovawart’s attention finally diverted to nearby bush, recently peed on by other dog. Hovawart rises and ambles over to bush. As it readies itself to pee, woman, all of a sudden, hurls stick. Stick flies, lands a good distance away. “Go, fetch,” says woman, not shouting, but almost. Hovawart takes its time peeing, then sits.
Woman and dog are motionless. “Go, fetch,” repeats woman, as if soliciting herself.
Neither move. Hovawart lowers its head, rests it on front legs.
“Stupid mutt,” whispers woman, kicks dog in the side.
Dog makes no move.
Woman looks at Hovawart.
Tries to make eye contact.
In vain.