A Day In The Life Of A Michigan Jackalope

If you have read about my evilpants, then you already know I'm a Jackalope in recovery. It is a daily struggle to keep my addiction to a certain Canadian confection in check. I wake every morning, thinking about the flaky crust, sweet golden filling, plump raisins ohmygodIneedabuttertartnow!!!!!!

But I digress. As I said, it is a struggle. I start each day with a little coffee, that was brewed by the kind hubber who took me under his wing. He always gets annoyed when he catches me lapping it from the pot, so I do it while he's in the shower. What choice do I have? It's difficult to pour it into a mug with no thumbs.

Since my gracious host works the afternoon shift, I spend my mornings being as non-evil as possible. We watch a little news, discuss current events, eat some wretched sugar-free breakfast cereal. You know, quality time. He sits very close to me while we're talking. He says it's because he's checking for fleas, but I think he's just trying to catch a whiff of butter tart on my breath. All in all, it's a good life, total lack of butter tarts not withstanding.

While many of my friends are as evil as I am (if not more so), most of them do hold down day jobs. So I am left to my own devices, as far as entertainment goes. The next several hours typically consist of the following. Watch a little more television, don't eat the butter tarts. Groom my fur, stay away from the bridge to Canada. Chase the cat around the house, don't eat the butter tarts. Shake the bird cage, stay away from the tunnel to Canada. Round and round I go. At around 4:00, my friends are getting off work, and I'm on the phone.

Yesterday, I called Clarence. He is probably the most evil friend I have. Clarence is a Werefrog. You would never know it, if you met him. During the day, he works at the animal shelter, caring for all the animals that have been lost or abandonned. But at night, he becomes a six foot tall frog, with a taste for birds, and small animals. Ironic, considering his day job, but it's true. You just can't make this stuff up.

Of course I was apprehensive about keeping a Werefrog as a friend, but, as it turns out, he suffers from antler intolerance. He does, on occasion, look at me the way I look at a butter tart. But we both know my antlers would give him unbearable gas pains. I am strictly off the menu, as are pheasalopes, and all other 'lope species.

Evil as I may be, I would never put my host's pets in jeopardy by bringing a Werefrog into the house. So I took Clarence fishing. Normally, fish are not a staple in the Werefrog's diet, but we weren't after just any old fish. One of the greatest delicacies to a Werefrog is the legendary Great Lakes fur bearing Trout.

Nobody knows for sure where these fish came from. I have heard it said that in the 1940's, a freighter ran aground in Lake Superior, spilling about 70,000 gallons of hair tonic. From there, it was only a matter of time before the tonic made it's way through all of the great lakes. Whatever the truth may be, Werefrogs find the tender, mild flesh, and all that fur, irresistable.

Needless to say, Clarence ate his catch on the spot. I, however, managed to save my trout for mounting, and have posted the photo above. That was the only fish I caught that day. Since we were fishing on Lake Erie, I spent much of the day looking longingly across the choppy water at Canada. Clarence actually had to slap me a couple of times, to bring me back to reality.

I glanced at my watch, and saw it was nearly midnight. I only had about an hour to get home, and clean things up, before my benefactor returned home from work! No time for tiny jackalope strides, I would have to hop aboard, and ride Clarence home. He hated to suffer that humiliation, but like a true friend, he got me there with 20 minutes to spare (although he was salivating most of the way home).

I'm home, safe and sound. Still Jonesin' for a little butter tart love, but I need to set things straight before my adopted daddy gets home. I straighten the bird cage, coax the cat back out from under the bed, and run through the shower to get the smell of Werefrog off of me. Just as I'm towelling off, I hear the front door. Time for another breath check, to make sure I stayed on the wagon, and soon we'll be in bed.

As he drifts off, I curl up at his feet, like a good little Jackalope. While he slumbers, I make my plans for tomorrow. Shake the bird, chase the cat, and maybe I'll hop across to Canada. You know, just to have a look around.