His Dogness

As a glutton, I sometimes ask my stomach to do more than it’s comfortable doing.

As I embark on some misadventure in eating, it’s usually as excited about the prospect as the taste buds. But it has to find a place to put everything. The taste buds don’t. Nor do I. So it’s is often ready to call it quits long before we are.

Consequently, when my taste buds and I keep partying, the stomach may find itself in the position of having to find somewhere to put those last few cookies even though it announced several cookies back that it had reached capacity.

Later, I may have the audacity to chastise it for aching. No question, the stomach’s job can be a thankless one.

When I am more composed, I try to make it up to my stomach by putting its wishes first.

The other day I found myself in King just moments away from the Dairi-O. The Dairi-O serves up one mighty fine hot dog. Some people consider Pulliam’s the home of the best-tasting hot dog in this area. I wouldn’t dream of saying otherwise.

But I was not moments away from Pulliam’s. I was moments away from the Dairi-O. So it was a Dairi-O hot dog that I had on my mind.

“Stomach,” I said, “how would you like to have a delicious Dairi-O hot dog?”

“Not hungry,” said my stomach.

Oh, no!

“Are you sure?” I asked just to be sure.

I could feel my stomach checking to make sure.

“I’m sure,” it said.

Masking my disappointment – who knew when I would be this close to the Dairi-O again? – I said, “OK,” and set a course south for Winston-Salem.

Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot at work. I parked and turned off the ignition. As I was pulling out the key, my stomach rumbled.

“Surely you jest,” I said.

“No, no. I really am hungry,” it said.

Next time I’m not going to ask.