Published: March 14, 2008 12:40 am            

Egg Hunting Champ

Yep! He could keep up with the best of ‘em – only, he got himself a little attitude when his basket filled with the bright and shiny prizes of the big hunt. And po-sses-sive, hmmm, hmmm, hmmm – he could let those little sharp teeth shine and big brown eyes glisten while giving out a low menacing growl if anyone was found messing with his stash, … stash of Easter eggs, that is.

We called him Hank … his real name was Hondrick Von McKee, our miniature German Schnauzer, a mighty little mutt and first class Easter egg hunting champ of all time. He was world famous; I like to think – famous as a fabulous family pet.

This eye popping phenomenal began while hiding eggs for our two sons and year-by-year Hank took over, and in a big way. Yes, it was eye popping to me, because as I tried to hide the eggs for my boys, Hank could find them quicker than I could put them out. At first he was very gentle, making certain his teeth didn’t break through the shells, but as he became a more aggressive hunter, well, we had to change to plastic eggs – didn’t matter to Hank. To him an egg was an egg, so THERE!

As our sons grew into young men and ventured off into the soccer arena and swimming competitions, ole Hank stayed true to his annual egg-hunting obsession. And yes, we did “egg-it-on” (sorry, couldn’t resist) – Oh, yes, we played it to the hilt.

One of the boys would take Hank into the hallway to wait until the eggs were hidden, and he would be so-o-o excited that he actually jumped up and down with anticipation. As soon as the eggs were hidden, I would call, “Okay, Hank … come and find them!”

Off he would go with that little knobby tail all in a kink as he kicked his little legs and paws all around the family room, sniff here, sniff there, until he found his prize. I must add that he couldn’t be thrown off the trail with anything else hidden for him – Oh, no … never could a substitute do the trick. We couldn’t hide balls or bones or even dog biscuits for the little man … nothing but the eggs would do.

Over the years the Easter egg hunting dog became almost a folktale. I mean people could not imagine such an animal (sorry, Hank) finding Easter eggs, because you see, Hank never knew he was an animal. He was an important member of our family.

We bought Hank when our sons were small and he grew up with the boys. He slept with them, he ate with them, he partied with them … he was just one of the guys. He loved pizza, especially at those sleepover parties downstairs in the playroom. The morning after one of those rowdy little boy parties, Hank would drag around all day with bleary eyes as he had missed his beauty rest … but he would never, ever miss the party – He was the real Party Animal (sorry, Hank).

And oh, how Hank loved an electric blanket when sleeping with the boys. He dug deeper and deeper toward the foot of the bed and piled on his back with his little feet sticking into the air. It was quiet a sight. After an hour or so he was ready to move out … out he would bound while panting and with his tongue hanging out - poor baby.

No one ever forgot him because he loved everybody and would greet his favorites with a tonsil-mopping smooch. Now you’ll have to admit that’s unforgettable.

Dear, dear Hank … such a joy for our family.

So at this time of the year, I always think of Easter egg hunting Hank and how much we miss him. The little champ lived to be a ripe ole age of twelve years and never a year passed without at least one egg hunting event, usually there were two or three hunts mingled with family gatherings. He was the star of the show and a mighty champ, indeed.

Now-a-days I hide eggs with my grandchildren and it’s a lot of fun. But I continue to look over my shoulder for Hank. I know he’s up there somewhere looking down at me, and perhaps chomping down on a piece of pepperoni pizza, and missing me as much as I miss him.

And I call to him, “Dear Hank … here’s one for you.”

        

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