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Bacon Strips My Favorite Tender Mercy

By Columnist Bob Bridge

I am not the King of Edgewood nor would I harbor the audacity to claim such a distinction.

Clearly, that mighty monarch is the one and only Christopher “Buttercup” Couch. He resides just two doors from me and has been coronated for the duration of a lifetime as our undisputed and revered ruler.

Hey, like Clint Eastwood sagely suggested, a man needs to recognize his limitations.

Chris reclines in his driveway clad in a bright pink T-shirt sipping on somewhat mysterious libations. He sings harmony at nearly every Clayton Anderson appearance.

Hence, I reign humbly as the less heralded Prince of Pups. Honestly, anyone could do it. I am merely a volunteer.

And what are my daily duties? First, I purchase a prodigious inventory of bacon strips and display them on my porch and atop the passenger seat of my beloved but oft-banged and bruised Black Beauty.

Hounds from Edgewood and all around town come to feast on the salty treats. Did I mention I cherish all canines?

Truth be told, evil lurks in the hearts of many humans. This is untrue of dogs. They exemplify loyalty and unconditional love.

Do they enjoy the treats?

Oh my gosh!

Those furry, four-legged creatures respond to the salty treats as if summoned by a siren. My belated hallowed hound Ralph Waldo Emerson savored Snausages. But, he never, ever turned down one of those scrumptious strips.

Let’s face it, pizza and donuts do the same to people. I’ve never met one I didn’t like.

One particular pair of pets drag the nice lady handling the leashes up my driveway to satisfy a “fix.” Then, they strike a gaze of implacable resolution.

Panting perpetually as if they’d just finished a marathon, their tails begin to wave as soon as they sniff the aroma of bacon. Nothing on this planet is as perky as a pup in anticipation of a treat.

Well, on second thought, perhaps yours truly when spying a tub of that irresistible gourmet cheese popcorn.

Saliva flows … and continuously flows.

Nothing on this planet is as perky as a pup anticipating a treat. They swallow audibly. Actually, it’s more like a gigantic gulp.

Watch those fingers! You could lose one.

Tails wagging with the rush of triumph and satisfaction, they return to the road grinning and prancing at a heightened pace.

Sometimes Beauty and I interrupt them while they are enjoying a morning or afternoon stroll. They abruptly halt and await patiently below the Jeep like a hungry hound resting beneath your Thanksgiving table, astutely alert while awaiting the inevitable spillage.

Occasionally, they remind me of their presence. Just a gentle growl or grumble sounding eerily similar to the sound emanating from an untuned tuba.

“Watch out!” folks exclaim. “They’ll scratch your door!”

No problem.

Neither Beauty nor I are without blemishes.

Who cares?

Not all tender mercies are designed for humans. In fact, nothing soothes this soul like a happy hound.

I offered Chris a bacon strip. He shook his head from side to side and said, “Me no like them.”

“Have you tried one?” I countered. “Emerson liked them.”

“No, me no like.”

Fair enough.

After all, he is our King.

Bob Bridge welcomes comments at 812-276-9646 or

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