The intense yearning Mel felt for that last

The intense yearning Mel felt for that last kernel of popcorn doubled as he watched his dog, Frankie, lick the bottom of the container.

Then Mel wondered if sand was edible. He wondered if he'd ever see the boys at Wilburton ever again. Then Mel cursed his luck, his dog, and his

popcorn obsession. Those Wilburton boys were fun, but the dangerous kind, and he didn't have the luck for that. His dog, on the other hand,

was the luckiest dog that had ever lived. First, he was born in a butcher's shop, which was right next to a fire hydrant factory, and across the street was a fake-leg designer,

and he had a good entergetic young man. The kind that would throw you a ball all day and at night would let you sleep at the end of his bed. A married man would never let you do

those things. That's why she was willing to lick his feet to wake him for work or bring the remote to him in her mouth while on all fours. He'd pat her butt and say "good girl".

And for a such a creature, there is no greater reward than the occaisonal and admittedly brief attentions of a master that you worship blindly. Except for when it was feeding time.

It is hard to claim your status in life when your only possesions are a food bowl, that bone in the backyard, and a fuzzy squirrel. But if master says, "Good Dog" all is forgiven.

However, the experience gained proved to be ideal many years later, when he took up politics and was duly elected President of the United States. Never had he stuffed so many.