Thursday, May 31, 2012

The Easter Disaster

The Easter Disaster

When I was a kid, we had a couple of Samoyed dogs. They were big white fluffy things. The first Samoyed we got was Frosty. We got her from a breeder, on the condition that she would have one litter of puppies (which would go back to the breeder) and we could negotiate to one of them. Frosty had a large litter and among them was one puppy that had very curly hair. All of the other puppies had normal straight white fur, but Gobo (named for the Fraggle) had fur that looked like it had been permed. Always one to root for the outsider or underdog, I wanted to keep him, but I was just a kid, and the breeder had pick of the litter, we ended up with his sister Chinook.

For the most part Frosty and Chinook were good dogs. They figured out how to eat raspberries and blueberries right off of the bushes, were relatively tolerant of affectionate, crazy kids who tried to dress them up in people clothes, (who me?!) and did their best to keep the myriad of chickens, ducks and pheasants in line. This last one was mainly accomplished by ignored attempts to herd the birds, barking fits when one of the roosters was cornered and had his talons out, and eventually a "eh, they'll do what they do, it's not my job!" approach when it became clear that the birds were at the top of the pecking order. They were good dogs, but they got into more than their fair share of trouble.

Every year our neighbours would hold a big Easter Egg Hunt in their yard down the road. All of the neighbourhood kids would be herded into their family room to watch a movie, or play some games, while the Easter Bunny (one of the parents, or older kids from the neighbourhood dressed in a furry costume) would hop past the window occasionally while "hiding" some goodies around the yard which was mostly obscured from view in that room. Secretly, I think that the majority of the parents were out there playing Easter Bunny while a couple of adults or teenagers kept us occupied - but we only ever got a quick glimpse of the big bunny. Eventually, we would be released out into the wilds of their two-acre property with baskets in hand. I don't think it would be an exaggeration to say that I was a first rate hunter of candy eggs! Over the years I'd figured out the most likely hiding spots and was quick to find the good loot.

The year I was nine, I had a huge overflowing basket full of Easter candy goodness. I'd just returned from the Easter Egg Hunt, with my biggest haul yet, when I realized that I had to run next door for a moment to talk to one of the (six!) kids there. I placed my beautiful basket full of chocolate and candy just inside the front door of the house, ran next door quickly and returned five to ten minutes later with the intention of sorting through my loot.

In the five to ten minutes that I was gone, the dogs had eaten at least part of every single chocolate and candy egg contained in the basket. I was outraged. I called the dog every nasty thing that my nine-year-old self could think of. Things that would shock a kid in the 80's, but in retrospect were rather tame. I cried, threw a major tantrum, said I'd never "speak" to the dogs again, and stormed off when my mom showed no sympathy stating "you really shouldn't have left it out where the dogs could get to it!"

I took a small bit of satisfaction in the fact that the dogs had horrible upset stomachs that night, especially as the one that had to clean up after them was the same person who had the audacity to show me no sympathy for my great loss of yummy loot, (poor mom!) but I was heartbroken and refused to show the dogs any affection for at least a week! That sure showed them!

1 comment:

  1. The poor hounds were trying to nudge you into relenting for the entire time you were choked at them. Cleaning up after the Easter egg fiasco wasn't nearly as bad as the crock pot full of chili...or the time Kayla ate every single dahlia...the poison control centre staff really shouldn't have broken into hysterical laughter as I was explaining the problem.