Rotten Eggs

Waiting by the glass sliding door...eyes peeled...scanning the area like a soaring eagle ...sinewy legs flexed and ready to strike...war cry on the tip of my tongue...I had been waiting for this moment for some time. The door opening, I sprinted across the patio to the softness of the grass in search of the pastel colored spheroids I knew were hidden in the yard even though I am color-blind due to the fact that I am a canine.

I was in search of eggs;
Eggs laid by a rabbit.
Eggs more colorful than the hues of the most splendid pinata.
Eggs that would change my life forever.

Why? I don't really know, but that is how badly I wanted some rabbit eggs.

Sniffing the grounds, I realized this rabbit was more clever than the stuffed and porcelain caricatures of it that littered the house, and the eggs were totally off my radar. Their elusiveness made me crave them even more, and I had begun having flashbacks of the time I stole the man's egg and cheese sandwich, eating it behind the couch with a tangible glee that lasted for weeks even though the eggs gave me terrible gas. I must admit that side effect also proved useful, for I unleashed a barrage upon the man that made him keep his distance and not seek revenge.

The more I looked and found nothing, the more frustrated I became, so much that I had to stop searching and think of what the problem was. I concluded that once again the man was behind the egglessness and that he probably captured the rabbit and tortured it as he had the tree. I put my search on hold to investigate his whereabouts, and what I found was shocking and fiendish. The man was in the kitchen, in broad daylight, and he had the rabbit in his hand.

The rabbit was not what I had imagined...it was dark brown and had hidden itself in a box. Reading the box more closely, I found the rabbit had a name, Russell Stover; but old Russell was about to meet his demise. The man had him in his clutches, much like my old friend the tree; and in what seemed like slow motion he bit down hard into Russell's flesh, which oddly smelled much like a Hershey bar, severing the rabbit's ears in a symbolic gesture that told me my protruding sound catchers just might be next.

I let out a sharp bark while the man smiled at me and mockingly told me I could not share his perverse snack because dogs could not eat chocolate. Chocolate? The sicko was eating a rabbit, the one and only Russell Stover!!!

The man went to take another bite, and that is when I met Russell's white eye with my gaze, which seemed to tell me that his sacrifice was not in vain. I was to continue looking for his magic eggs, find them, and somehow use them to avenge his death.

I sprinted back outside and once again scoured the yard for anything that might be a rabbit egg. That's when I saw it sitting in a tuft of grass that grew higher than any other tuft in the yard, an obvious sign of its magical power. I clawed through the reeds for a better look, and there it sat. Greenish-gold with a brown tint...elongated like a majestic jalapeno...it was a masterpiece of unmatched craftsmanship. I knew this was the treasure Russell Stover wanted me to find.

Quivering with excitement, I closed my eyes and opened my mouth, waiting for the greatest sensations of flavor and the accompanying fireworks of power I knew would come over me. I chomped down and swallowed in one swift motion, and that's when I absolutely knew...

...that I had not bitten into a magic rabbit egg at all.


It was one of the sharpherd's turds...a combination of kibble, cat food, grass, Cool Ranch Doritos and an old hot dog wrapper.

Needless to say, my Easter egg hunt was a major disappointment,
and I found out that Russell Stover totally sucks.

Somebody get me some Listerine.
Z.