I am organising an Easter egg hunt for the grandchildren.
The Furlongs have done it before.
But this Easter it’s different to the many times in the past when we did it for our own five children when they were growing up.
We don’t have to hide chocolate eggs cautiously, secretly the night before in the dark, whilst taking care not to walk on a snake, or discover a scorpion nestling in the bushes. Or placing the eggs at cunning heights so the St Bernand or Doberman or Rottweiler or whatever the large dog we had at the time was, didn’t scoff the lot, silver paper and all, before the morning.
This time, there won’t be any chocolate at all. I’m going to hide small gifts and fruit and biscuits in secret places in our garden.
And I could place them really low down near the ground about half an hour before the grandchildren arrive.
I’d have to do that, because even here, in our garden, we have devious animals that could scoff the lot in the twinkling of a night star. Or the light of day.
Greedy creatures like EINSTEIN the rat, or our very own BASS the dog.