Grandpa arrived last night and the kids wasted no time climbing all over him like ants on honey.

He was their chief, the head honcho, the master.

Or maybe he was the lackey, the minion, the follower? Within a few hours they had buried him alive under this pile of stuff. Can you find him?

Perhaps it’s a bit of both. He is a friend, a cohort, a comrade.

I’ll take it anyway it comes. Thanks to him, the kids are having the time of their lives!