The Father's Day affair at the rink was just as good as it always has been. The rumor mill said that the eggs were better on the west side. There was a long line on the west side so, it must have been true.
I had the pleasure of having my pancakes cooked by Madame Joelle. She skillfully peeked under the pancakes with her spatula to see the state of the browning and then she deftly turned them over at the exact moment. She peeked several times before considering them perfect.
I noticed that her griddle was set slightly lower than those adjoining, so she had more time to consider how the pancakes cooked. What a thrill to have three pancakes cooked by a noted French Chef in a white uniform. I hope she is here for many more years, upgrading our tastes in food and pancakes.
Father's Day also brought on the groundhog marathon in my north side lake bank. Mr. Lemon went back out after his early morning visit and I soon heard some barking that seemed muffled, but I didn’t think much about it.
Sue left for early church and I was told to meet her at the rink at 10:30 a.m. for breakfast. I was cautioned not to forget my prepaid ticket. I got about as far as the aerodrome driveway and I remembered I did not have my ticket or cash for the Boy Scout flares. I was also concerned that Mr. Lemon was off on a trip, as he was not around and did not respond to my calls of “let’s go car.”
As I walked into the house, I picked up the ticket and money and I again heard some muffled barking. I looked out the lake window and saw a very dirty Beagle standing in the lake. Big waves were passing under his ample belly as he tried to get a drink by catching the wave top with his big long tongue.