Carol’s Column

Every dog should have his day

FATHER'S Day, like Mother's Day, should be banned.

It's a commercial rip-off.

Legend has it that it was invented by Henry von Aardvork, an enterprising Austrian immigrant to the United States of America.

Mr von Aardvork, a hardworking, forward-looking entrepreneur, started off in business with a barrow and a stack of second-hand men's underpants.

From these inauspicious beginnings, he branched into men's vests, trousers and shoes.

His barrow began to overflow, so he rented a small store on Manhattan's East Side.

His business grew in leaps and bounds. It seemed that the whole of American manhood wanted to wear Henry von Aarvork's underpants, vests, trousers and shoes.

And then, the economy slumped and with it slumped Henry von Aardvork's business.

However, undaunted, Mr von Aardvork looked around his somewhat large store (by now he'd taken over the premises on either side of him) and noted that his shelves were overflowing with unsold underpants, vests, trousers and shoes.

A pragmatic man, he invested in a huge, wooden billboard and painted the following sign upon it: 'Celebrate Father's Day on Sunday — buy your Father something he'll wear and remember for ever — show him you care'.

Of course, the rest is history. Henry von Aardvork made millions and Father's Day was born.

Which makes one think.

I mean, why stop at Father's Day and Mother's Day? We could have Dog's Day, Cat's Day, Springbok's Day, Camel's Day, the Receiver of Revenue's Day, Dentist's Day ... the possibilities are endless.

I mentioned them to my family the other day.

They were not impressed.

“The trouble with you, Ma,” said Ralph seriously, “is that you get carried away.”

“Quite right,” agreed Jamie, “you always overdo things.”

“What do you mean, overdo things?”

“Well, look how many rugby referees you've punched because you've disagreed with their decision.”

“That's not overdoing things, that's justice,” I protested.

“And what about that anti-schoolbook covering campaign you started in 1979?”

“What about it? Covering school books is ridiculous. It's a waste of money, time-consuming, counterproductive. When I think of all those kilometres of brown paper and plastic that are wasted, it breaks my heart. There should be legislation in parliament banning the covering of books,” I said angrily.

“You see,” Ralph shook his head wearily, “you're overdoing things again.”

“Listen, you kids are lucky you don't live in a dull little grey house, with a dull little grey mother who feeds you dull little grey sandwiches every day.”

“You're right, Ma,” said Ralph, “at least our lives are Technicolor, they're exciting. It's like living on the edge of Mount Etna.”

I looked at him closely, but his face was deadpan — you can never tell with kids.

“Right, to get back to Father's Day,” I said, “I think we'll give Daddy a surprise, but we'll keep it simple.”

The kids sighed but I pretended I didn't hear.

Which is why, the father in our lives, the one still snoring happily besides me right now, has a treat in store today.

Waiting downstairs to pipe him into breakfast are the Bagpipers of Blairgowrie. Breakfast, has been catered for by a leading 6-star hotel, the South African Philharmonic will be playing a little light breakfast music and then, to complete the proceedings, the Boksburg Follies will dance the cancan on the diningroom table.

Yes, we've kept it simple this time.

Happy Father's Day to you too.

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