Tag: goldie

August 20th, 2026

Journal Writing

August 20th, 2026

Last weekend, I made chili dogs, and by that I don’t mean I put our dog in a large pot of chili. Although, to be fair, Goldie, our miniature schnauzer, is so cute you could eat her up.

No, I’m talking about juicy hot dogs smothered in a chunky chili sauce. Goldie, however, did get a bath, but I bet she wished the tub was filled with chili. It smelled that good! Come to think of it, I wouldn’t have minded taking a dip in it myself.

In fact, the chili was so good, I’m frankly a little surprised Chili’s hasn’t asked me for the recipe yet. The irony, of course, is that Chili’s doesn’t actually have chili on its menu.

If I opened a restaurant that exclusively served chili and chili-derived foods, though, what would I call it without infringing on their trademark? Spicy Beef Stew’s just doesn’t have the same ring to it.

Apparently, there’s a heated debate among chefs over whether chili is a soup or a stew. Personally, I think it falls somewhere in between. A stoup, if you will.

Wait a minute.

Stoup’s.

That’s the perfect name for my chili restaurant. I already have the slogan: “Netflix and chili? Come get stoupid at Stoup’s.”

Aside from chili, Stoup’s would offer the Stoupid Meal Deal: one of my famous chili dogs, a side of chili cheese fries, and a bowl of chili mac—because apparently the chili dog wasn’t enough of a warning. For your beverage, you’d have your choice of water, milk, or Pepto-Bismol.

For just 99 cents more, you could make it a Stouper Size, which includes extra fries and a complimentary apology to your digestive system.

Of course, starting a restaurant is expensive, so I’d need some capital. I checked my inbox to see if Chili’s had finally sent an offer for my recipe, but all I found was a letter from PETA regarding something I apparently said in my opening paragraph.

No idea what that’s about.

Goldie has declined to comment.

January 6th, 2026

Journal Writing

January 6th, 2026

Sunday night, my girlfriend was on the couch, sipping white hot chocolate. It was your average, uneventful Sunday night—until Goldie, Super Schnauzer, decided maybe my girlfriend was a tall building she could leap in a single bound.

Truth be told, my girlfriend is pretty tall, so I think clearing her would require at least a few bounds. Or binds. I mean, her beauty knows no bounds, anyway.

I watched in horror, knowing there was absolutely no way Super Schnauzer was clearing her in a single bound—pluralized or otherwise. My girlfriend flailed her arms as Goldie made contact, and I swear time froze. Suspended midair was a single globule of hot chocolate, hovering like a NASA experiment gone wrong.

I couldn’t believe my eyes when that same globule gently plunked back into her mug—not onto my couch. Not the cushion. Not the throw pillow. Not a single drop anywhere that would’ve required frantic Googling, stain remover, or the emotional acceptance that the couch had lived a good life.

My girlfriend laughed and said it was strange that none of it spilled. I told her I’ve seen stranger things—and I wasn’t talking about the show.

After thinking it over, I realized the only logical explanation is the Upside Down. That glob of hot chocolate didn’t fall back into the mug—it fell up. Which means that if we ever binge-watch Stranger Things, we’ll be doing it without hot cocoa—no matter how chilly Netflix and chill gets. I’m not risking another portal opening on my couch or having to plan a funeral for my furniture. Instead, I’ll be handing Super Schnauzer a squeaky hedgehog—something bright, indestructible, and hopefully the canine equivalent of kryptonite.

And with any luck, she’ll go back to just being a normal dog. I mean, stranger things have happened. Otherwise, I may have to call Rex Luther—assuming I can still find my dog whistle.