Our LAST Picnic With Tank??

Sure seemed like a reeeally long time since we got to fetch sticks in the lake.  So long, I forgot all about it. Well, we went back to the lake and fetched ‘em again. My dad says it’s summertime, and that’s what we do; 0h yeah, I knew that. And what’s this about Our Last Picnic With Tank? It’s been years! Why are we bringing it up now?  

I do remember our last picnic. (It might have even been our first.)  When we got to the lake, I didn’t even wait for my dad, I jumped right over him when the door opened, fast. So fast, I dug my claws into his leg again, BARELY! Sorry! But we were at the lake! Boy, was I ready for that!

Then Dad says, “Come on Tank, we’re going to a picnic.” Hmmm, I thought, “I never been to one but it has a nice ring to it.” Then he adds, “Aren’t you hungry?” Oh yeah, I know what that means. Sure enough, Mom’s cooking something.

   But first I just knew my dad wanted to throw the stick for me.  So I’m headin’ down to sail into the water when someone yells. “Hey this is a resort; there’s a leash law here.”

   “A WHAT?  I tried to run but Dad made me come. “C’mon, Dad, what trouble could I possibly be?”  I cower down and dad hooks me up. “Really… A leash at the lake!?!?” I howl in my mad voice. Dad assures me it’s only till we get down to the water. “Let’s hope so! Surely they don’t think I can fetch with that thing on! Thank goodness, no; Dad sat down and threw me stick after stick.

   Pretty soon I notice Mom. She’s spreading out a table right on the ground; smells like, hmmm… chicken AND hamburgers with cheese.  It’s gotta be for me. I’m the only one who eats on the ground around here. I prance over, before Dad can yell, “Tank, the leash!” Mom turns back and grabs the mustard and buns, but who needs all that?  Plain old meat is just fine for me. I jump onto the festive, soft tablecloth she had laid out for me and get my first piece of chicken. Mom starts yelling at me and I look toward the lake and here comes Dad, and he looks mad too. I guess its cuz I’m coming to the picnic all wet. So, there’s a little mud on the cloth; I can fix that. I quickly shake, but that just seemed to make things even worse with Mom; that’s for sure. I try to run away but as I do, part of the tablecloth comes with me. So I spilled a little beans; NO problem; I can lick those right off the cloth, see mom? Why do you look so upset? Okay, so here I am trying  to help, but before you know it I’m back on a leash and sitting NEXT TO to a picnic. Finally Dad brings me a plate. Apparently I’m not invited to sit on the cloth, but I am not sure this whole picnic thing is for me anyway. Whoopie! I get to eat… on a leash- by the lake..?  Come on you guys…I mean really, what trouble could I be?  Read Tank’s column from last month.