Holidays always tend to bring back memories and Easter is no exception. While many of you are probably reminiscing about time spent with family, or watching your grandchildren meet the Easter Bunny for the first time, I’m remembering an Easter spent with the Governor.
The year was 1980-something and my brother Mark “acquired” a dog that was being abused by his owner. To say this dog was the nastiest son-of-a-bitch would be an understatement. I’m not even sure what breed it was, probably a cross between Satan and Cerberus.
The only person who could even come near the beast was Mark. Any attempt to gain proximity to the animal would result in a guttural growl, a frightening show of teeth, and a bark that would cause a constipated individual to instantly be relieved of his/her ailment.
That didn’t stop Mark from bringing the dog over to my parent’s house for one particular Easter dinner.
My father was not an animal lover, per se. We never had a pet growing up unless you call the duck I had for a very brief period of time one summer a pet. So, while we sat inside and waited for my mother to serve the meal, Mark’s dog was tied up in the back yard – as animals were NOT allowed in our house.
I remember looking at it through the window as it paced back and forth menacingly looking back at me.
“Don’t tease the dog!” my father would scream from the other room.
Of course, I didn’t listen and ventured out into the yard to “play” with the cute puppy. After all, there’s only so far the dog could go attached to a lead, right?
Now, I knew damn well this animal was as friendly as a rabid wolf, was a close cousin to Cujo, and could easily rip off my arm if given the opportunity. But that didn’t stop me from antagonizing it.
Thinking I was a safe distance away, I reached out and grabbed the dog’s tail. With the swiftness of a cobra, the beast swung around and in a split second had my arm locked tight in its jaws.
I freed myself and went running into the house screaming “Governor bit me!”
It was at that very moment Easter was canceled.
My father, the animal lover, immediately started his “why did you have to bring that damn dog over here?” rant, while my mother panicked thinking her youngest was going to die an immediate death due to a dog bite.
Instead of sitting down to a mediocre meal (my mother was a horrible cook) of ham, potatoes, green beans, and cranberry sauce straight from the can, Easter would be spent waiting to get a tetanus shot at Wilkes-Barre General Hospital.
That was the last time I saw Governor, even though he went on to live a long life full of instilling fear into everyone who crossed its path.
Memories like this make holidays special. Even if they’re not the greatest they give us the opportunity to look back and ask, “remember when?”