Love that chicken from Popeye's...

Most evenings I head to my associate Fred's house to walk his dog:

"I got a new nickname for you & Belle," as he opens the front door with the dog at his feet, "Do you want to know what it is?"

"Sure," is my answer.

"I am going to start calling you guys the 'pandemic thirty twins."

I didn't catch it, he explains.

"Between the two of you during the pandemic thirty pounds have been added to the world, thus the 'pandemic thirty twins."

He's lucky my feelings don't bruise easily. I tell him such.

"It's because your belly covers up all your feelings,' snickering at a fever pitch, "Jesus, we are going to have to grease the doorway to fit you guys through it."

I hook Belle to the leash and lead her out the door and to the car. She jumps in the passenger seat. As we pull out of the driveway en route to the dog park, she says, "I'm hungry, take me to Popeye's." She didn't really say that, she's a dog after all and dogs can't talk. I know she was thinking it though, so I set a course for the Popeye's drive thru.

"Is that you again Rob? Do you want me to have them cut the second sandwich into squares for Belle," the kid who runs the drive thru at Popeye's has become a dear friend to Belle & I during the pandemic.

"That would be great buddy. Dr. Pepper for the drink and Belle gets water of course."

"That'll be $16.58 at the window."

We pull to the window and I give the kid the money.

"How's Belle doing today?"

"She's doing awesome," is my answer after gently nudging her back to the passenger seat, "She gets so excited when we come here."

"Here you go. Have a good day."

We don't make it far before her impatience kicks in.

"Goddammit, wait til we get to the park you fucking pig," her nose aggressively pressed against a bag full of Popeye's artery clogging goodness.

She is unwilling to wait. I pull into the TJ Maxx on Meeker, "Here you go girl," as I place a wad of cajun fries in my hand, "Have at it," her portion of fries is devoured in less than fifteen seconds.

I'm able to enjoy a few bites of my sandwich before she insists on hers. One hand fed me, one hand fed her. Five minutes later the fat sack of artery clogging Popeye's goodness is no more. We take a few minutes to digest. Then it's park time.

Upon arriving at the dog park Belle defecates and urinates. The weather is too hot for much time outside, thus we decide to go back to Fred's place.

"It's the pandemic thirty twins back from their walk already," he comments as we waddle through the door, "It's still a bewilderment to me how you two can come back from exercise even fatter than you were before."