....Hot dog. But before the nation’s farmers, ranchers, politicians, bankers, commodity traders, bureaucrats and, yes, even its dogs overheat too badly this month, let’s take a moment to recite the nearly-forgotten August Farm Creed:
“I promise to spend August not making any farm- or ranch-altering decisions unless I am either waist-deep in tall clover, neck-deep in a cool lake or eyeball deep in cold beer.
Taste is #1. I will spend each day and night either on vacation and/or in the company of my family, friends, dog (but not the cat) and local liquor wholesaler. While with them I will hold only one tenet sacred: great taste is always better than fewer carbs.
As such, if asked to go fishing, I will. If asked to go shopping, I will. If asked to wear shorts, I will. If asked to cook supper, I probably will. If asked to wash the pick-up, I will have a beer.
Solemnly, indeed. “And I solemnly pledge to spend this August like Augusts of the past: I will not bend, concede, buckle, adapt, submit, stoop, kowtow or curtsey to any issue, idea, initiative, intrusion, interference, insect, in-law, innuendo or invoice so help me Sir Arthur Guinness.”