Friday, May 1, 2009


Here in the KintlaLake household, four humans share space with a pair of AKC-registered [REDACTED*]. We always seem to mismanage our supply of dog food, waiting 'til it's almost (or completely) gone to make a trip to our local kibble depot.

It is, you should pardon the expression, a pet peeve of mine.

Anyway, with only a scoop or two remaining this morning, I was assigned the task of fetching a 30-pound bag of the stuff. My wife gave me her frequent-buyer card, which appeared to be one punch short of a freebie. Sure enough, the friendly young cashier informed me that I was entitled to a second bag at no charge, giving me a choice -- take it today or wait 'til my next visit.

In this economy, it's hard to predict who'll be in business tomorrow and who won't. I grabbed another 30-pounder and plopped it on top of the first.

Transaction complete, the cashier offered to carry one of the bags out to my truck. He seemed shocked to see me pop both bags up onto my shoulder. As I walked toward the door, I turned back to him and said, "Thanks anyway -- but if I do collapse in the parking lot, would you be kind enough to call the squad?"

Either I look a lot older and weaker than I thought I did, or this kid has been talking to my father-in-law.

*Mrs. KintlaLake scolded me for invoking my personal nickname for the breed. Some other time, perhaps.