Scuba Dooby Doo!
Laverne and Shirley, my dachshunds, were intrigued – but not at all impressed – by weekend reports of two extreme sports involving hot dogs.
The first was the annual Fourth of July Nathan’s Famous International Hot Dog Eating Contest in Coney Island. Joey “Jaws” Chestnut won the “mustard belt” for the fourth year in a row by downing 54 dogs in 10 minutes. But then former champ Takeru “The Tsunami” Kobayashi, who was not competing because of a contract dispute with his sponsor, stormed the stage and was arrested after wrestling with the police.
“I’d storm the stage for all-you-can-eat hotdogs,” Shirley, my dachshund with an eating disorder, said of the footlong controversy. “And I could eat more than 54 hotdogs in 10 minutes. Sign me up for next year.”
The other was the story of a Russian dachshund named Boniface who is learning to scuba dive.
“It’s Scuba Doo!” I laughed. “Get it? Scooby Doo?” They rolled their eyes and asked to see pictures of Boniface in his scuba gear.
“He looks like he’d rather be eating hotdogs,” Laverne noted.
I read more of the story and told my pups, “Apparently, Boniface was greatly distressed every time his owner went on a dive. He would run back and forth on the shore whining until his owner surfaced.”
Looking at Laverne, I continued, “You do that when you see me pack my suitcase. What extreme sport would you take up just to be with me, Laverne? Rock climbing? Shoe shopping? Or I could enter you in the weiner dog races! We could all be on the Tonight Show!” I said, already thinking about what I would say to Jay when Laverne won.
Realistically, I knew that Shirley, at her weight, didn’t have a possum’s chance at a coonhound convention of winning that race.
“Take up competitive hotdog eating, and we’re right there with you. For that, we’d let you dress us in scuba gear or put us in those humiliating hotdog bun costumes.”
Yep. Man’s best friend.