Today my six-year old grandson came home from school and started redecorating his room, in the form of moving things around on his shelves and dresser. He asked if I'd get the skinny trees we had by the fireplace (meaning the alpine trees I use at Christmas). When I asked what for, he told me it was so we could properly celebrate this special day. "What day is it?" I asked, scanning my brain for February holidays, like president's birthdays. "No. it's not a president," he tells me. "What are those little furry things?"
I think again. Little furry things?
"Weiner-hogs!" he announces. "It's weiner-hog day!"
My husband was standing in the kitchen and he supplied the correct word, because I had to bury my face in a pot of spaghetti sauce. The boy was apparently asscociating words to remember the right term and crossed weiner dog with ground hog.
Guess the little guy saw his Oscar Meyer shadow, eh?