Hotdog for Breakfast - July 18, 2025

I admit it looked sad in the frig, leftover from the weekend’s barbeque, shrunken with faded grill marks. But thirty microwave seconds later, it pops and sizzles till a fork punctures and brings it to my lips.

Drool-worthy, flesh-tearingly primal, lusty-hot and absolutely unshareable, hitting a spot banana bread or corn flakes never could. I see both dogs approach, but smartly keep their distance, watching the ferocity of my mastication.

At some point I hear mom say, Gary, what are you eating? with that disapproving tone mothers have, but she’s a ghost now. Back then, I would have hesitated. Today, I’m a free beast.

Even upscale carnivores must glaze over when eating a favorite kill, snarl quietly as they rip off pieces, chew loudly as they feed the killer inside

I finish and notice Oliver and Gracie, still watching, still unsure of what distance to keep from me, so I gesture with my empty hand

Come here you guys, it's just us dogs now