Fishy tales

To say my husband loved fishing, as a kid, is an understatement.

How else would you explain his hooking the same fish again and again? Yes, the same fish!

The story goes... as a kid, hubby often grabbed his home-made rod and ran off to fish in the pond a little away, with some bigger boys. And he did manage to catch a few unfortunate fish.

And soon it would be dark and time to get home before the dad got furious and snarled with flaring nostrils.

Once home, the caught fish would be emptied in a little puddle in the backyard. And my sadist of a hubby would get down to the business of camouflaging the menacing hook with delicious dough and hanging it next to the unsuspecting fish. Again! Ouch!

And fish, true to their memories lasting the blink of an eye, get lured by the dough bait, offered by a vicious little boy. Again and again.

The love for fishing still lives. But the skill is gone, I believe. How else would you explain, armed with a state-of-the-art handsome rod and reel, he doesn't catch even the hint of a fish? (If you don't consider the ones that just about get away!)

Or maybe the fish have finally got wiser to the ways of a wicked wicked boy a long time back.