Grab your leashes, folks – they’re back.
The born-to-be-wild, barky-larky turd machines are in town once more. Dung beetles everywhere are celebrating in anticipation of an abundance of new riches.
It’s tourist season again.
Happy holidays, muddychuckers!
But I promise I won’t bang on about them, tempting though it is…
So what is a grocklewuff? So glad you asked. They’re those fuzzy bundles of fun that are just so excited to be on holiday. You haven’t lived till you’ve seen a usually house-and-garden bound dog see the sea for the first time.
On the whole, the owners are great. It’s just the odd one here or there that… Gahhh…
But I said I wouldn’t rant. Must… not… get… distracted…
So, a grocklewuff isn’t a mythical beast, or some hybrid legend. It’s a dog on holiday.
But while we’re on the subject, I’m reminded of what I was actually intending to talk about. It’s like when you go into a shop for a carton of (almond) milk and come out with biscuits, toilet paper, a selection pack of crisps, three (dairy/free) chocolate bars and a toothbrush – but no milk.
And why do people get upset when it’s called milk? Who cares? Let’s face it, it’s only because nobody can ask for a ‘carton of nut juice’ with a straight face.
Back on track.
Why a bunny?
What’s the connection with eggs?
Well, it seems there was a pagan goddess who was in a bit of bother and in a moment that must have inspired generations of House-Of-Mouse animators, she was rescued by a host of woodland animals. Well, one. A bird.
To show her gratitude, she promoted the bird to the next level of lifedom. To whit – a bunny. But she allowed it to retain its egg-laying abilities (insert your own chocolate egg jokes right about here).
And the goddess’s name? Eostre.
Do the math, as they say.