I didn’t get diddly-squat. Apparently, the Easter Beagle hates my guts.
I’ve two beagles at home. They give me things every day (like poop, attitude, warmth, and exercise).
Perhaps the Easter Beagle was scared away by Quincy and Nordberg.
Bronchitis and an allergy to yet another antibiotic.
The Easter Beagle can kiss my ass. 
I bought myself some mini Cadbury eggs to make up for being stiffed by the Easter Beagle and they creme inside was stale and hard.
I totally got gypped this year.
The Easter Beagle knows such things.
it just doesn’t care
The Easter Beagle has seen to it that you get such misery because when things are good (which will be when you repent) you will sing the praises of the Easter Beagle, as you would be smart to do.
It would be wise to feed any nearby beagles ham. Lots of ham.
I haven’t had a visit from the Easter Beagle in a while. Nuts.
FWIW, the last time the Easter Rabbit stopped by, our house guest got a new pair of bunny slippers.
On Easter Sunday, my fifteen-year-old niece gave me a peek at the naval piercing that she let her friend do on her. Does that count?
I thought it was an Easter Chicken?
The Easter Beagle (well, okay, it was Airman’s Aunt Carol, but still) left me a “carrot” filled with M&Ms and a chocolate something-or-other. I’m not telling you where they are, either! 
Robin
The Easter Beagle left me with 5 Cadbury Creme-Eggs. I was lucky to actually eat one of them as my kids got to them before I did.
Duct tape band-aids.
Beagle is redeemed.