Hoover and I have at least one ridiculous mishap per day. He eats something that I fear will kill him. He steps on my keyboard, because he is a living room gymnast with poor spatial boundaries. I can't find his leash although I only really ever put it in two places.
But none of that is important. What is important is focus when you track the squeaker in your toy with your eyes, and having someone love you enough to make it squeak fifty times in a row just because you love it so much.
Mostly, between mishaps and the squeaking, we just hang out.