I hope everyone had a lovely Easter. I enjoyed watching the boys run willy-nilly throughout the house and yard picking up their eggy treasures amid squeals of glee and delight.
Oh, no, wait. That didn’t happen.
Saturday I dutifully brought out little cups, colored tablets, warm water, vinegar, and eggs. I laid out protective newspapers on the kitchen table and gathered the kids around. I poured and measured with the scientific exactness of Madame Curie. The kids dunked and swirled. We carefully set out the eggs to dry and went in the backyard for a cookout. When we came back in, we discovered Rocco the Easter Dog had relieved us of all but three eggs.
@&$^*$#&@#*!!!!!!!
He was lying on the floor, head between his paws, surrounded by egg shells and looking either quite pained or quite smug, I’m not sure which.
At the late hour of this discovery, I didn’t have a lot of choices. There weren’t enough eggs left in the fridge to make new ones, plus I was out of vinegar and colored tablets. The idea of strangling Rocco briefly crossed my mind but I didn’t want to break a nail. The kids seemed fairly unmoved by the turn of events so I sent them off to bed and decided to deal with the predicament in the morning.
Bright and early the next day, I snagged the Easter baskets I’d been hiding in my trunk as well as some brand new Buccaneers jerseys J had brought home the week before. I hid everything outside and left carrots all over the yard as proof that the Big Rabbit had been here. I turned the kids loose, they found their loot and everyone was happy.
Well, not everyone. Judging by the aromas being emitted by Rocco, he seems to be suffering from some intestinal disarray. I’m sure he’ll get over it in time to try and steal the appetizers I’m making for company later this week.
