We used to have an Egg Man. His name was Bill Handley, a dairy farmer who lived just outside Lewisburg. Every week, Bill would bring us eggs, milk, butter and – Daddy’s favorite – pure cream for his coffee. Bill would come early in the morning, before school, on Mondays and Fridays. One of my jobs was to go outside and retrieve Bill’s deliveries and put them in the refrigerator.
The eggs were always “just-laid” fresh, and the rich pasteurized milk, the home churned butter and the cream were from farm to table. We were certainly spoiled.
We also had an Egg Dog. His name was Flash, a black, gold and white English Setter. We called him Flash because he was one of the fastest dogs I’ve ever seen, and he could also escape from his dog pen in a “flash.” He was truly the Harry Houdini in all of dogdom.
One morning, Bill dropped off the eggs and milk and happened to leave one of the egg cartons slightly ajar. From his pen, Flash noticed a truck leaving our driveway and he thought there might be a hunting party in progress to which he had not been invited. So, he climbed out of the pen and raced to the carport. Noting the slightly open egg carton, Flash picked up one of the eggs out of the carton with just his mouth (try that sometime) and took off, racing around the house. About that time, I came out to bring in the eggs and milk and noticed one egg missing from the carton. Flash made about three circles around the house and yard, then came up to me, egg in mouth, reminding me that he was a willing party for a bird hunt if I was.
I held out my hand and Flash gave me the egg just as he would have with a retrieved quail. The egg was unblemished and unbroken. Flash had the gentlest mouth of any dog I have ever been around. Many times, he would retrieve a crippled bird, still alive and he never once bit or harmed the quail.
As far as I know, Flash also never broke an egg. I guess he was about the best Egg Dog I ever had.
