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SPRING HAS SPRUNG!

Published on April 8, 2021 under Blog
SPRING HAS SPRUNG!

It’s springtime in Florida and we’re feeling the full effects my BTR friends. The pollen covers everything with a green haze and makes everyone sneeze a lot. The spring breakers acting stupid at the beach makes the locals green with disdain. Mike boils eggs way too long and turns the yolks green that makes for funny looking deviled eggs after losing the Easter egg cracking contest down at our local pub. Speaking of eggs, it’s that season for me to pop out a few.

Mike cuts me off saying, “for the past few years I’ve been forgetting about your motherly instincts. This Easter I took you, your buddy thumper and a few of her chocolate cousins to the beach for sun, sand and surf. The next thing I know y’all become butt up in some kids’ baskets and start popping out eggs.

It’s a good thing we only made it to the picnic pavilion. Had you two done that in the sand, some crazy conservative Eco freaks would have thought those were turtle eggs, immediately roped off the area and called the Florida Fish and Wildlife Commission (FWC).

The last time I dealt with FWC was when you turned up missing. I had to supply them with proof of ownership, a photo of your leg band, the ID number from your microchip and your BTR press pass to identify you. OMG, talk about bureaucratic red tape. Had that have happened now during covid era, I’m sure they only would’ve accepted paperwork by hare mail.

It’s a good thing there were no shellfish involved. ‘Cuz I would’ve been fined for harvesting oyster bunnies out of season. I’m so glad that beach patrol didn’t catch youtwo misbehaving at the pavilion. We would have been egg-spelled because they don’t take too highly to your crack ups. During the last run in with the sand cops, you tried to pass off your shenanigans as a type of eggsercise calling it hare-aerobics.”

I cackle behind Mike’s back,“knock knock.”

Mike turns, looks at the door an answers,“oh shit, I hope that’s not FWC? ”I squawk “police!” He trembles saying, “police, what now?”

I gaggle, “police no more of your cockamamie hare and egg jokes! It’s Good Fry-day, I don’t want you beaten. Even though people tell me that you’re over easy, you do better when your sunny side up. But Mike, I’ve got your back. I’ll just tell them that on the bigger plate of life you’re just a little scrambled!”

He looks at me sternly and says, “sorry, I can’t, I’m on an egg roll. You just keep it up my little buddy, the next three out of your butt are going to be hard boiled, sliced and sprinkled over some chicken salad!”

I squabble, “come on dude, you’ve been threatening me with that for years. You’ve taught me not to be a dumb funny colored little chicken. Eventually when I mate and have eggs that will hatch, I will never mislay, overheat or get them mixed up. Lord knows I wouldn’t want a bunch of loose, hard boiled or scrambled youngins flapping around.

The last thing you’re going to do is tease my egg whites. They’ll be coming from good stock and will be able to take a yolk. I think we both need to get out of the house. Let’s put some wind under my wings.” Backing out of the driveway, Mike has to slam on his brakes. A UPS truck was passing quickly behind us and we heard something go splat on the road.

The neighbor’s kids had a basket with a little bunny and eggs in it and were collecting more from around the mailbox. The driver wasn’t paying attention to where he was going and ran over the basket with the bunny in it. The kids saw what happened, started crying and screaming, “oh no, the Easter Bunny is dead! The UPS man killed Easter!”

Just then, the kids’ parents, Joe and Jane, come running down the driveway and try calming them down. Mike thinks quickly, jumps out of the truck and grabs a can of aerosol spray from his door. He runs over to the squashed bunny and begins hosing it down.

Slowly the bunny starts sitting up out of the basket. Mike keeps spraying and even more slowly his one arm comes up and it looks like he’s waving.

To everyone’s astonishment, the kids stop crying and Joe comes over asking, “hey good neighbor, what is your miracle in a can? How did you raise the dead and just save Easter?”

Mike holds the can up to him and reads the label, “hairspray, restores life to dead hair and adds a permanent wave!”

I squawk loudly, “hey you sad excuse for a Jesus impersonator, climb back in the truck. You need to get your knees under the keys, the wheels rolling down the road, with my wings out the window. The next thing you know Joe and Jane will want you to spray them both down and see if anything rises up between them.

– SPYKE