If someone said “Scooter Dog” two days ago I would have expected to see a big brown dog scooting his butt on the white carpet.
No longer. I have found nirvana in the form of a restaurant near our house: Scooter’s World Famous Dawg House. After 30+ years in this area we finally tried Scooter’s. Consider my mind officially blown. Basically you get a hot dog, regular or long (go for the long, trust me) with any odd pairing of toppings you could imagine. I had a macaroni and cheese dog. It was delicious! John had a basic bacon dog but there are Hawaiian dogs, and about 30 other combinations. Then, you get about 100 french fries (that’s a small) with available malt vinegar packets. Be still my heart! Of course the stomach may not be still but that’s a gamble I’m willing to take.
What surprised me is that I had no idea it was there. I guess on Fridays and Saturdays the line stretches out the door. It’s like Weber’s in Ontario. The inside has antique auto memorabilia and they also serve ice cream. How did I miss something so important? It advertises to be the “home of the happy hot dawg.” I don’t know how happy the hot dawg was but we were delighted! How did I not know? Think of all the happy hot dawgs I’ve missed out on.
I guess sometimes good things can fly under the radar.
My mind was blown again this week by a realization I had while I was walking Chester. I had been listening to Sirius XM which I get for the fantasy football channel, but nothing’s cooking in fantasy right now so I listened to the 60s on 6 station. I had this realization that no matter how hard a band tries, it is literally impossible to write another 60s song.
Let that sink in for a minute. A composer could write a song inspired by the 60s. A singer could sing a song from the 60s. But there are NO MORE 60s songs There never will be.
I’m not used to finality. I’m not used to something hard and fast and irrevocable. I’m very good with ambiguity. I can argue either side of most debates. I can bargain (don’t like to but I can). I like to say anything is possible, and if we try hard we can do whatever we want. Ummm, no we can’t. We cannot write a 60s song.
This realization came on the heels of Scooter Dawg. How can this world be turning and I missed it?? How did I miss writing a song in the 60s? (OK, I was a little young, but the 70s? 80s?) How did I drive by the exit to Scooter Dawg and not see it? I feel like I have been asleep at the switch. How many other things have I missed?
At some point it’s going to be too late for me to do what I want. Finality will throw up a blockade in front of me just like the 70s did to the 60s. It’s a scary thought. I guess I better wake up, get out of my routine a little and experience new things.
On a side note, Chester has a renewed determination to go after squirrels. He has not caught one, but we put up a deck. He sits on the deck like a king surveying his kingdom and eyeballs every corner of the yard daring some four legged moving interloper to show its furry self. The difference is he is now also laser focused. Below are three pictures taken over an hour. Mind you, the squirrel is in the NEIGHBOR’S tree (It’s one of their squirrels I’m sure, although they have had some racoon fights over the squirrel food so I’m not sure their squirrels are too happy. They may relocate to our yard which is probably what Chester is determined to avoid). The squirrels are probably thinking “we’ve lived here 3 years and never new this yard existed.” “our little minds are blown!”
Anyway, he spent an hour first running up and down the FENCE, yes the fence that the squirrel was on the OTHER SIDE of, then sat down and barked. This picture shows him with his mouth open. Imagine the bark.
Next he got a drink and went back to running. He sat down and stared, barking occassionally.
Finally he lay down and watched. The squirrel barked at him saying “ha, ha you dumb scooter dawg” in it’s most sinister accent.
Poor vigilant Chester.
Right now I am sitting on the deck, thinking about finality and thinking that I hate it. Chester just took off to the corner of the yard. There is nothing there. I guess I’ll have to go get him.
Walking Chester 