The Death of a Weenie Vendor

Houndson Doggington sits on the black leather sofa in a small room, across the desk from his therapist, Dogtor Biscuit. He has been experiencing severe depression for two months, ever since he moved out of his old apartment. His previous owner, Frank Stevens, a hot dog vendor on a corner two blocks away, suffered a fatal heart attack. Upon Frank’s tragic passing, Doggington was passed to his sister, an elementary school teacher named Molly.


Hello, sir.

Hello, Dogtor.

So, you’ve been having more issues?

Yes. Ever since I moved into this lady’s apartment, every day seems like a trial. Do you know how hard it is to hold your bladder from 6:40 all the way until 4:20?

I can imagine it gets exhausting. Does Molly let you out before she leaves for work every morning?

Of course she does, she’s not that cruel. I wake up in the morning, wake her up, get some kibble, take a dump behind the bush in the park across the street, come back inside, and sit on my blanket for eight hours. Dinner is the highlight of my day, and a meal of those small brown pellets of pro-teens and cards, or whatever Molly’s always going on about, is not as satisfying as these people think it is to us. Nothing compared to a juicy weenie.

Have you tried listening to some uplifting music while Molly’s at work? Some of my other patients have learned how to control the stereos in their apartments.

Yeah, I’ve tried, but Molly keeps it on the damn classical station, and my paws are too big to change it. On top of this, there are these ugly cats that are always on the fire escape out the window, taunting me. I wish Frank was here.

I’m so sorry. But come on, Houndson, there has to be something in life worth living for.

It’s been pretty hard, lately, although there is one thing I’ll always have. Before Frank died, he showed me where all the hot dog vendors throw away whatever they don’t sell at the end of the day. There’s this little alley that Molly takes me past every evening on my walk, and it feels for a moment like I’ve been lifted up to heaven. If I’m lucky, I can tug on my leash hard enough that her fingers will slip, and lucky for me, Molly isn’t very fast.

Well that’s nice. Here’s what I think you should do: try to savor everything you have in life. Every bowl of kibble, every bark at the cats on the fire escape, enjoy it all. Remember that even the hardest parts of life are still worth living.

Thank you so much, Dogtor Biscuit. It’s been pretty hard for me lately. By the way, you gonna finish that turkey sandwich?

Nah, it’s all yours, buddy. By the way, I attached your prescription for your antidepressant to your collar, so just run down to the CVS and pick it up. Stay strong, Houndson, it gets better.

See you next week.

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