The Final Dog

This past weekend was sad for one reason only: Saturday was Final Dog Day. That’s the day on which the final outdoor hot dog of the season is consumed. With the beginnings of a tear in my eye, I approached the dog vendor outside the old Strathcona farmer’s market. He was just warming up for the day – it was 11:00 am. Never too early for a Fat Frank’s I always say, and knowing that this Saturday would likely be the last day for such a joy, I had to do it. One jumbo, fiver from my jeans, on the cart. Whole wheat bun or nothing my good man, and he toasts the sucker a bit before serving. Ah, the ripe and wild hot dog. Ever so beautiful on a sharp October day like this. The falltime brings many pleasures, but one lament is the disappearance of the jumbo dog street stands. A true shame, but it has to be. One cannot appreciate anything unless one goes without for a time. The absence of dogs in the winter makes their reappearance in spring all the more sweet. Long live the hot dog roaster and his charges. May his children winter well, and may the spring come swift and ripe with relish and onion.