Reflections: Darn Good Dogs

I have zero control over what pops up on my phone’s Internet browser because I refuse to log in to my account. I also don’t know my username or password, making my stance against Internet tyranny seem a tad less defiant. As a result, I’m bombarded with updates on the Kardashians and a staggering array of “reality” TV shows. I now understand why using toothpaste and pumping gas are such a challenge for so many people these days. On rare occasions, the algorithm collating and analyzing my browsing history converges on something I choose to read. Happens about once every three months.

“Doggone Best Bait for Dog Day Cats while Fishing with your Dog” was the title of the blog. Or something equally provocative. I admit to skipping some parts, most of it really. A lot of fluff and braggadocio. Obviously posted by someone who writes stories for fishing magazines.

To catch more dog-day cats, I was first instructed by the  blog to acquire the cheapest hot dogs I could find—wieners laden with yummy nitrates. Nitrates were the key to attracting people who watch reality TV shows. I mean catfish. Sorry, lost my train of thought there for a second. The blogger went so far as to endorse a specific brand, touting them as “not fit for human consumption.” Not sure how the company producing exhibit A feels about said endorsement, so, to avoid any legal proceedings, let’s just call them Darn Good Dogs.

The Darn Goods were to be sliced into chunks, laced with strawberry Jell-O mix and garlic powder, sealed in a Ziploc bag, and allowed to stand overnight. Sounded like dessert to me. I was certain this was a slight adaptation of something I saw Bobby Flay whip up on the Food Network. I’m guessing the whole thing got started when somebody threw a few of Aunt Mabel’s legendary garlic Jell-O hot dogs off the dock during her daughter Trixie’s third wedding reception and a whisker-laden feeding frenzy ensued, halting all festivities. Trixie’s soon-to-be fourth husband, assistant manager of the Darn Good plant in town, caught a channel cat that went just over 11 pounds.

I’d discovered the Darn Good recipe just days before our annual trip to Lake of the Ozarks. LOZ in mid-July is a premier fishing destination, if you are into bikinis, jet skis, sunstroke, and the incessant drone of cigarette boats. On a day with no breeze, three-foot swells are to be expected. My aunt and uncle own a place perched along one of the coves near the Bagnell Dam. It’s really more than just a place. The key facet of the operation is a dock that covers somewhere around three acres of water. The dock comes complete with Wi-Fi, a bar, two giant boats, jet skis, a big screen TV, stereo system, ceiling fans, and Christmas lights. Over the last several summers, we have convened on the dock for our family vacation.

On the second day of last summer’s dock session, I sent my nephew to the grocery store with specific instructions to buy the cheapest pack of hot dogs he could find. To my amazement, he returned with a pack of Darn Goods. I owed him 98 cents. Last pack they had, a testament to current demand from the catfish sector. On the trip back, he’d already eaten three raw dogs to confirm nitrate levels. (I’m kidding. He only ate one of them, reporting only mild gastro-intestinal distress.) We mixed up our ingredients and made it almost four hours before we were down on the dock, tossing flaming-red hot-dog chunks into the lake.

There’s something very satisfying about sitting among million-dollar vacation homes, Brooks and Dunn spewing from the dock speakers, and slinging a nickel’s worth of hot dog in the general vicinity of a passing cabin cruiser that’s worth more than my house. The tipsy woman reclined on the upper deck of the boat spills her martini trying to wave and I raise my coozie-clad latte in response. She’s probably a star on Desperate Housewives of Hannibal, Missouri. More likely a corporate something-or-other out of St. Louie or Chicago.

As the sun sinks lower, a pretty good bite ensues and the kids are yanking cats out of the water at a steady pace. There are some break-offs and at least two botched net jobs by amateurs, including myself. Blues, channels, and one wayward flathead visit the dock for snapshots. There is some debate as to whether the nuclear hot dogs were really “all that” as the kids say these days.

The Darn Goods caught us a bunch of fish, but our standard gas station nightcrawlers held their own. I try to offer some economic cost-benefit analyses based on the current market price of a dozen ‘crawlers, but my logic is met with derision. The great hot-dog debate erupts anew at Thanksgiving and there are plans for several controlled experiments to be conducted during our next dock session.

On the long drive home after gorging ourselves on turkey and stuffing, I know my patronage of the Darn Good franchise has yielded intangible dividends. My youngest daughter asks for a new catfish rod for Christmas. The break-offs from last summer are haunting her. Maybe she just needs some better “string,” she offers. I nearly swerve off the highway. String? I suggest we need to work on her vocabulary, but I’d see what I could do. Full disclosure—she’s in the nightcrawler camp, so I’m not sure an equipment upgrade is a wise move on my part.

I never thought I would look forward to fishing off some fancy dock in the sweltering heat of July, watching the sun set over high-rise condos. But fish and memories are where you find them. And, as I said, it’s really more than just a place. In truth, I’d have to rate it as pretty Darn Good.

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Daniel Isermann is a fishery scientist who has contributed to In-Fisherman publications for more than two decades.

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