My last fishing trip

A fishing tale, but whit a twist!
by Grandpa Milo:


Once, a long time ago, I went fishing with my dad. Oh, it was at least 60 years ago, and I was just a wee lad. He told me we were going to a small pond behind our house. That place smelled to high heaven, but my father promised me that it had the biggest fish I could imagine. So, we picked up our fishing rods, bait, put on some straw hats and went on our merry way. We sang and joked on the way there, and my dad kept telling me about the huge monster fish he caught on that same pond when he was even younger then me. It was all: ''Her eyes where two huge diamond dinner plates!'' ''She fought me until I could hardly take a breath '', ''I had to club her head half a dozen times before she died''. My childish mind was running wild, and I saw myself battling it out with a freakish creature from the deep. After the longest 10 minutes of my life, we had finally arrived at the pond. I was so excited I didn't even notice the horrible, horrible stink of the pond water and whatever was in it; all I wanted to do is fish. We unpacked, and let them fly. My dad smiled at me, and I smiled back. My pond adventure finally began.
But, when I first tried to pull my hook out, I found out it was stuck. I called my dad, all excited, because, a real diamond-eye wale was biting. He grabbed my rod and we pulled together, but the hook wouldn't budge. After a few minutes, my dad told my I didn't actually caught anything, but rather, my line got stuck in the underwater weed. Half an hour later, he told me I should take off my boots and go in to try to untangle it. I argued that I could use some other rod, but he said that it's wrong to throw good, useful things away. So I got in. I felt the mud and many other things underneath my feet, and creepy, slimy critters crawling up my legs. It took me about 15 minutes to find the line, and then I tried to jerk it out, but it was still stuck. I asked dad what I should do next, and he told me to dive under and try to release the hook. The water was cold and the smell was awful, but I did it. I emerged with a half-rotten cow head in my hands. The sight of it made me scream like crazy, but somehow I took the hook out. I wanted to throw the head back, but my dad told me to keep it as a souvenir from our trip. I got out; decaying cow skull beneath my arm, when he told the line was still stuck. Because I was already wet, he explained how it was only logical I should go back in.
Anyway, 2 hours and 10 cuts on my feet later, I succeeded to entangle the line. I was cold, smelly and miserable when I got out, but I still wanted to get that enormous magical fish. However dad told me we should go home.
''Why - we didn't even fish?'' I asked.
''Yes. But we accomplished something even more meaningful. We solved something! A mystery!''
''What mystery?''
''The mystery of the neighbour's missing cow!''
''But why did you made me go back the second time?''
My dad smiled at me, I picked up my cow scull, and we started going home.
The next 2 months I spent in my bead, sick like a dog. And all that time I asked myself why did my dad made me go in there.
What was the reason for all that?
Was it spiritual?
Philosophical?
What was I suppose to learn from that, in the least case, unpleasant experience?
What life lessons were to be had from that day?
60 years later, I had finally figured it out.
Actually, it's quite simple - my dad was a jerk.