A Hunting We Will Go

It's that time of year again! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it's time for THE GREAT DOG EASTER EGG HUNT! We'll be filling pastel colored, plastic Easter eggs with dog treats and hiding them in the living room for the furry fools to find! It's kind of like a cross between a Black Friday department store opening and a shark feeding frenzy. Actually, that's the same description I would use for when the keg gets tapped at the family reunion. I guess the difference here is that the dogs don't pull knives on each other. The Little Dog would if he had a pocket to carry a knife in.

I went out to the garage to find the plastic bag with the Easter eggs. We seem to have a lot of plastic bags that look like they are filled with Easter eggs in our garage. The first one I picked up had my wife's Summer Collection of lawn ornaments in it. Yes, she has seasonal collections of lawn ornaments. The Summer Collection has: pinwheels, a flag with some kind of flower on it, ceramic rabbits, a garden gnome. The garden gnome kind of freaks me out because he looks like my cousin Mike. The garden gnome looks more human than my cousin Mike, though. That branch of the family tree probably should have been cut off. And burned.

I finally found the bag with the plastic Easter eggs in it. I have to sneak the bag into the kitchen. If the dogs see the eggs, they go crazy. It must be that hunting instinct in them. Who knows how many generations of dogs have been hunting plastic Easter eggs? More than three, I'll bet. Man and dog versus the wilderness. A wilderness filled with pastel colored, plastic Easter eggs.

Oh, I've been around real hunting dogs. My Dad had one.....for awhile. We took him hunting.....once. We were after pheasants. My Dad had a friend come along because his friend had a trained pointer. I guess the idea was that Clem, our dog's name was Clem, turned out to be an apt name for him, would learn from the trained pointer. Clem was, I guess the politically correct thing to write, a slow learner. The trained pointer would "go to point" on a pheasant and Clem would go to point on.....a fence post. He was the champ of fence post pointing.

Mighty brave talk when my Dad was holding a shotgun. I could see my Dad calculating whether he could get away with shooting this guy. He saw me and figured I would tattle to Mom if I saw him shooting people. I don't think Dad was afraid of prison, but Mom makes good cookies and you probably don't get milk and cookies sitting in your easy chair watching Bonanza in prison. They probably do now.

I have great memories of past GREAT DOG EASTER EGG HUNTs. One year, I didn't put any treat in one of the eggs. Big mistake. The Youngest Brother dog got that one. He cracked it open, and there was nothing in it. I started laughing so he knew who pulled the dirty trick on him. The Youngest Brother dog has a real strong sense of revenge in him. He went and got a cat turd and put it in my shoe. Oh, not right away. Later. He's devious. Fortunately it was an old hard cat cigar. Went to put my shoe on and there was something hard in it. The Youngest Brother dog was standing there laughing, so I knew he did it. Then he went and told the other dogs and my wife. Big mouth. Whenever I tease the Youngest Brother dog, my wife says, "Remember the cat turd!" It always makes me think of "Rember the Maine!" from the Spanish American War. The Spaniards probably put a cat turd in Teddy Roosevelt's boot. That'll make you charge up San Juan Hill. The Youngest Brother's great grandfather was probably there with him.

Another year I glued one of the eggs shut. Big mistake. The Littlest Dog got that one. I made the same mistake of laughing. He "keyed" my car. Oh, he tried to tell me it was an accident. He said he accidentally scratched the car on the lawn mower handle when he was pulling the car into the garage after going to McDonalds. Filthy liar. I know he goes to Burger King.

Well, have a Happy Easter and while the ham is cooking and the kids, not dogs, are hunting Easter eggs, please remember why we have this holiday. That empty tomb fills my heart.

Sounds like fun!

"Will there be any wabbits?"

Going shrooming as soon as my phone charges a bit. There in season here and they move slow enough I can still catch ‘em. Caught a hat full of them the other night, need a few more for a mess.

I was doing fine until I got to the part where the dog put the cat turd in the shoe. I spewed sausage and eggs on the keyboard and monitor.

Thanks for the laugh!

Glennb51

Stay away from the shrooms under cow paddies, or maybe not. 8>)

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