Fido & Me — Hot Dog

“Whoa! Who turned up the heat?”

“Fido, you have a short memory. It’s summer.”

“And who turned on the boom-box?”

“Once again Old Boy, you seem to have forgotten. Didn’t we go through this last year? And the year before that?”

“I don’t remember anything! I’m a dog! Hey hey hey hey!”

“You’re a hot dog, too. It must be pretty uncomfortable with a double-coat, like you have. I can tell by the way you are panting.”

“It seems like it’s the only way to cool down.”

“I have some ideas about how you might help things out. We could go for a swim, for example, at one of the lakes.”

“I don’t like water. Too wet. Chows don’t like to swim, generally, and I am a chow.”

“Well, mostly you are, but there’s some retriever in you, too, and retrievers love water. The water would cool you off.”

“Don’t-like, don’t like-like, don’t-like.”

“That’s a new one, you Big Red Lug, but I think we might think of other solutions. Howzabout a trip to Bridgeport? We could stop in June Lake along the way, and that’s always nice.”

“But it’s July. Why would we want to go back to June?”

“Fido, you just kill me sometimes. But if you’re complaining about the heat, you have me a little bit worried. I have some tricks for it, though.

“First of all, most of the heat you have stored up is released through the top of your head and the bottoms of your paws. So let me put a little rubbing alcohol on your paws, OK?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You won’t say it’s so ridiculous if it helps you cool off. And if that doesn’t work, let me dribble some water on the top of your noggin.”

“That sounds better than rubbing alcohol on my feet!”

“Also, let’s keep you in a cool spot, with cool floors made out of wood or tile. We could go to the office!”
“That does not sound like fun.”

“OK, you have a choice. Have a heat stroke, or not. Up to you.”

“That doesn’t sound like much of a choice. What would be the point of going to Bridgeport?”

“We could go to the Board of Supervisors meeting, Mr. Beeg. Nothing like the Supes. They’ll throw cold water on just about anything.”


“Yeah, it’s Budget Season up there. Everything—and I mean everything—gets at least a splash.”

“Even the dogs?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t expect you to really follow this, but you have to be CARB compliant. It’s about air quality, so take it easy on farting.”

“Hey hey hey hey!”

“And they want you to toe the line on your biscuit consumption.”

“But … but … but.”

“Not only that, they want to limit your car rides. Two dogs to a car, minimum, from now on.”

“The Supes can’t be serious!”

“They’re really nice people, but sometimes humans have to do what they don’t want to do. Especially when it comes to money.”

“What is money?”

“Fido, money is like biscuits for humans. They have to plan how much they’re going to use, then dole it out appropriately throughout the year. If they use more than they have, then they have to cut back.”

“But for biscuits?!?!?”

“Yeah, it’s a bummer, right Fido? Nobody is happy about it, especially the Supes.”

“They should go jump in a lake!”

“Fido, as you recall, that was what I suggested in the first place!”