When it was time to eat the dogs, we couldn't find them. George had transferred them to another pot, and left the empty pot on the floor, making it appear that his bassett hound, Chatham, had eaten all two pounds of sausages. Chatham was a bit of a sausage herself and so this turn of events was credible, but it had us really worried about what would happen to the dog.Turns out, this was all a prank, and George eventually produced the hot dogs. Too bad for us! They were terrible, and I've never lived it down.
We put some bourbon to better use that weekend, sans frankfurters.
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from George:
Chatham, a beagle, died on April 13, 2004 at the age of 14. As she lay dying at home, on her favorite cushion, she told me of her proudest
accomplishment. "Remember me escaping in the middle of winter surviving for 2 solid weeks, then making it back home. That's what I'm most proud of."
"Chatham! I always knew you could talk. Tell me this: Where the hell were you for 2 weeks?"
Forming a response was a huge effort for her. I could see that the seconds were ticking away. Her eyes had already glazed over. She gave up trying to answer, but I noticed that she died with a huge grin on her face.
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