We were back at our traditional Easter camp, where The Boss has been spending Easters for the last 20 years or so, with his mate Frank. There wasn't much water running in the little creek past our usual spot so we moved over to the next gully where there was just enough water running to fill the water heater and wash the dishes.
I like to smell that fresh mountain air, particularly when I can pick up a whiff of cow dung, wombat and deer droppings, not to mention plenty of kangaroo poo. Its enough to make a Chessie smile.
If I can smell it, I can find it - I like to say - and it didn't take long for me to get in amongst it. Queenie, as usual, was trying to show me up and was first to roll in a cow pat, just as we were getting back from a long walk.
The Boss saw me heading for it, I was taking her cue, of course - and he headed me off. He wasn't pleased with her. Anyway, then she wandered off and found this deer foot, and came back with it so she could prance around the camp and tease me with it.
She's a wretch, my Mum. I mean, she does it deliberately - if I ignore her or lie down she has to come and drag it past my nose. Sometimes I pretend I'm not interested and then I'll suddenly lunge at it but I reckon she watches my eyes and whips it away just in time.
Anyway, I had to go looking for my own trophy and I found it. I don't know exactly what it was but I ate it. It smelled pretty evil but I've never found that to be a reason not to eat something. It all fills a spot.
Except this one must have been EXTRA-evil, because by the time I arrived home I was feeling pretty crook and had the shivers. The Boss ran me into the Vet and, being a public holiday still, he had to put on the x-ray gear himself and help the Vet push me this way and that to get a good look at my innards.
The Boss first thought I might have swallowed one of those plastic bags he'd bought with roast chicken in it - after the humans had eaten it, of course - but I knew the one he was talking about and, while the thought to make the most of chicken flavour is always in my mind, I was too late to nail it before he had it buried in the rubbish.
Then he told the Vet I could have taken a bit of a wild dog bait or something, but the Vet did a blood test on the spot and said she doubted it was poison.
She pointed to the x-ray, which showed a whole lot of gas in my gut and a twisted colon, whatever that is, so she said she needed to cut me up to get a better look. The Boss agreed with this, without consulting me and he ducked out the door, leaving me to the knife. I thought he was better than that.
I can't remember much of what happened next, but I ended up on a drip for the next few days and didn't feel like eating anything. This is a first for me, I have to tell you. I am always ready to eat!
In the end the Vet told The Boss he's better take me home because I wouldn't eat but as soon as I got home I was in the mood for it and scoffed down a good old-fashioned feed.
Well, sort of. It's this low-fat stuff and I'm on it for a month. You'd think The Boss would be feeling sorry for me but he's feeling sorry for his wallet - I think I cost him a fair bit and blemished his Easter somewhat.
But hey - what's a few bucks for a star like me? Woof!