Barbecue and the Petrified Dogs

I’m researching all kinds of old-time barbecue feasts and the people and towns that live for them. So far I’ve spoken to the crew at the American Legion Post in North Dakota, a Kentucky horse farm owner who digs a trench in his front yard every June after a local race featuring teenage jockeys, and a woman who lives in upstate Pennsylvania (she doesn’t like strangers knowing precisely where she lives) who has a pile of blue ribbons from the county fair. It’s all part of a very strong desire to get back in the car after a year of confinement to discover the ways we’ll gather together at fairs, carnivals, community events, church suppers, family reunions and social clubs (among many others). I’d sorely appreciate it if you can email me (icantbelieveididthisblog@gmail.com) with any suggestions and locations I should drive to.

But right now the utility company is jackhammering the street outside my window–they’ve been at it for a month. Our sidewalk is a muck of dirt and asphalt and the 80 pound dog is a mess of nerves. His safe spot has become a pillow in a far corner under my desk.

So instead of researching, I’ve watched this and thought you like it, too. It’s a good way to mindlessly enjoy a burger.