Simply, The Dog House

Usually, when Anne tells me to do something, I respond like all self-respecting adults: with obedience. So, when Anne bid me write up about our trips to the The Dog House, I thought I would find myself easily acquiescing, glad to know my place and purpose in the world. The task, however, has been more formidable than I was previously wont to suppose. The difficulty occurs not at the intro (I’ve written several, all more or less satisfactory for my purposes–it’s fine to describe the building, and even get past the rather abominable inner exterior) but right at the part where I begin contemplating what type of Dog I will order, I get tripped up. I can go no farther in the explanation of types of Dogs to order. This is because a single tear in each of my eyes clouds my vision, preventing me from typing. Why are my eyes so shrouded in what appears to be misery? You assume too much! Not misery, but bliss or rather, the pure nostalgia for the experience. How can I describe that memory when the reality is so intangible, untastable to my tongue since its sense has been barren since tasting that paradise of flavor? I ask you!

Let me back up a few characters: have you ever been to Fort Scott, Kansas? I know Angela Cuba has, but then she will also shortly have a Masters with a thesis. Thereby, severing her shared experience with the rest of us. Fort Scott proudly boasts an actual fort, no movie theatre and very few edible breakfast places. It has also produced many notable characters such as Gordon Parks (?) and several Lorimers. There may be other individuals from Fort Scott, but we don’t speak of The Marrieds. I digress.

Now, The Dog House is a relatively new addition to this historic landmark town and it’s not what I had imagined visually speaking. It shares its space with a drive up pizza place. Don’t be fooled by the yogurt-shop aesthetic, the dogs are cooked to order before your very eyes. In a feat of innovative technology, this grill is placed inside with very little of the normative accouterments of indoor grills. It still breathes free and open, accessible to any eaters concerned for the pinkness of their dog. More than likely, however, they are still staring at the dry erase board menu, wondering if it was right to go with The Bleu Dog (bacon, bleu cheese, bbq sauce) rather than The Caliente (grilled peppers and onions, honey chipotle sauce, bacon). I have it from one Dan Kerr that The Danny Dog is the best, but what of The Whiskey, or The Philly? I suppose only time (and repeated visits To The Dog House) will tell. But at this point, it is clear that Jace, the owner, developed a new mastermind endeavor to spark the economy and provide both jobs and food for the 99%. When asked by a local investigative reporter which of his dogs he would marry, Jace unabashedly declared his love for The Kraut Dog. Celery salt, mustard and Kraut adorn this simple dog which, in its own way articulates the simplicity of its benevolent master.


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