Like Father Like Son

Or in our case, Like HH, Like #1. Last month, Scavenger H found a giant 12" serrated hunting knife in a leather scabbard, right in the middle of the county road. He doesn't know what he's going to do with it, but it's his now, by cracky!

Today on our trip home from The Devil's Playground (yes, we frequent The Devil daily, doing our part to bring our great nation out of its depression or constriction or whatever the president has decreed that we call it now), the #1 son and I saw a treasure. You know, a roadside treasure. Junk that was laying alongside the road. One man's junk that HH considers his personal treasure. I might have mentioned that time right after we were married, when I saw a piece of J-channel in the middle of the road, so I slammed on my brakes, jerked my favorite car of all time, my 1990 cherry-red Toyota Corolla, into PARK, and commenced to wrestle that writhing snakish J-channel into a coil and stuff it in my back seat, that cheeky J-channel that would promptly whip about my head and shoulders as soon as I climbed back into the driver's seat, much to the satisfaction of the line of cars waiting at my rear bumper. The J-channel that New Hubby H would take one look at and declare was JUNK. Which left me of the opinion: Well, fiddle dee dee. As God is my witness, I'll never pick up junk in the road again.

The #1 son has inherited HH junk gene. There we were, about two miles from home, still on the county road, when we saw it: a large yellow bag of dogfood on the side of the road. "Oh, look. Somebody's dogfood fell out the back of their truck." #1 looked up from his double duty of holding his giant Symphony candy bar up against the air conditioner vents of T-Hoe, and reading the book 'Unwind' that he had propped up against the area where the air bag lies in wait until its called upon for a heroic act. "Stop! Go back! I'll get it!" There was a driveway I had just passed, which meant that I had to back blindly up a hill on a slight curve. Hey! I have one of those beepers to tell me when I'm about to hit something. I backed up and into the driveway. #1 jumped out and jogged up that blind hill. I cautioned him to listen for a speeding instrument of death. He disappeared behind some hanging tree limbs. I heard dogs barking. #1 reappeared at a dead sprint, pumping his arms like those kids on the railroad trestle in Stand By Me. Behind him galloped a black lab and two german shepherds. He crossed in front of T-Hoe, made a cut that a Pro Bowl wide receiver would envy, and yanked open his door. "I was almost there when I saw that the bag was open, and there were about three pieces of dogfood left. That's when the dogs saw me. Let's get out of here!" The black lab was under my window, wagging his tail, barking, with a grin on his face.

We had a tale that would make a grown HH cry.