Genius hound dog may be headed to Harvard

It might not be a stretch to say nearly every surgeon born in the last half of the 20th century took his first stab at the trade by way of the children’s game Operation. The clever little board game tasked players with removing troubled body parts such as a broken heart, wrenched ankle, funny bone or water on the knee from the patient (a two-dimensional, endomorphic clown) with a small set of metallic tweezers.

Unskilled players would invariably bump the surgical instrument against the electrified edges of the game board, triggering a flash of the patient’s red nose along with an annoying, turn-ending buzz. Those who successfully removed the most difficult maladies — the “anklebone connected to the knee bone” for instance — were identified as “gifted” and fast-tracked toward medical school. At least that’s what our 10-year-old minds imagined.

This past weekend I was thrilled to find the next generation of wannabe surgeons are gloving up to a whole new iteration of the game. Dino Doctor is essentially the same game as Operation but is pitched as slightly less yucky because the “surgeon” is actually operating on cartoon dinosaur rather than an overweight, middle-aged circus performer. My 4-year-old grandson James unboxed the thing after a recent birthday and is already making his way toward Harvard Med. I have yet to ace my first procedure.

As is the case with most things, James is super-serious about the proper setup, staging an establishment of ground rules of the game. As such, mere adults are required to stand back and remain silent while pre-op preparations take place. These involve making sure the batteries are charged, the electronic alarms are working properly and most importantly that all the little “plastic bones and organs” (which now inexplicably include a screwdriver, hammer and a pair of pliers) are placed in their assigned cavities on the board and set for extraction.

Frankie, our hound dog and ever-present companion of the grandsons, was, by merit of his silence and rapt attention to the process, permitted to hover closely as James placed the game pieces for an evening match.

Frankie endures a lot of disrespect from our own adult children. They mock him as thickheaded and “derpy.” My wife and I recognize this as sibling jealousy rooted in the fact that when Frankie moved in to fill the void in our newly empty nest, he had immediately established himself as a bit of a “golden child.”

Consistently obedient, reliably well-behaved and always kind to others, Frank deserves every accolade we lavish upon him. Furthermore, he has yet to leave the milk out on the counter, pile dirty clothes all over his bedroom or back my car into a mailbox. So yes, he is a bit of a favorite, and his careful play at Dino Doctor should prove once and for all that he’s a lot brighter than your average dog.

“Hey, Frankie, stop!” James yelled, grabbing at the mutt’s jowls after we had turned away for the slightest moment. “Guys, Frankie just ate a bone from my game!”

James excitedly recounted that the dog had hovered over all the assorted game pieces for a single moment and then scarfed up the small, plastic femur from the set. A thorough sweep of Frank’s floppy jowls revealed no trace of the half-inch-long, plastic game piece.

“Well, this should prove to everyone that Frankie is an exceptional dog,” I said proudly.

“Dad, he just ate a plastic bone!” Charlotte exclaimed. “How exactly is that exceptional?”

“It could have been a screwdriver or hammer, right?” I boasted. “Instead, Frank chose a bone! Is there a doggy Harvard?”

Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John atjlorson@alonovus.com.