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Ever get the urge for a sandwich?

Well, that was me last week. But it just could not be any sandwich. It had to be one of those ones legends are made of – the po-boy of the gods.

Complete with everything and things you never thought of to put in between two slices of bread. So, in my eagerness, I made my way to the kitchen to assemble my Dagwood Special. I know, I just aged myself with this reference, but oh well, there was no better way to describe this miracle the Earl of Sandwich had blessed us with.

For which I would soon be thankful.

I braved the dogs to make my way to the kitchen and began to assemble my sandwich.

Bread. Check. Let’s put it in the toaster to make it nice and warm.

Tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuce, pickles. Check, check, check, and check.

I am a spicy kinda guy, so let’s not forget the Miracle Whip.

Cheese? But, of course. As my wife would say, only a heathen would leave cheese off a sandwich.

I assemble the sandwich, it is ready for the meat – the reason the sandwich exists. My stomach can already taste the goodness which is called Black Forest Ham.

I open the fridge to grab it.

It’s not there. We were out. I died a little inside.

I dig around. Hoping against hope that somehow, just somehow, the Black Forest Ham was misplaced.

No such luck. My wife organizes the fridge with a vigor which would scare a Marine Drill Instructor. You dare to disorganize it.

I teared up a little. So off to plan B

Bologna. Maybe, if I cannot find anything better.

I could thaw a hamburger patty, but this would take too long and I am not craving a burger.

I want a sandwich.

I dig more.

I came across a plastic tupperware container. It looks like pulled pork or brisket. I cannot remember when we last had it, but I can taste a sandwich with either.

I am happy. I am pleased.

I take off the lid and look at it for a second before reaching for a fork to dish it onto the sandwich.

A heaping helping comes out on the fork.

Right before I was about to slap it on the sandwich and eat, a thought in the back of my mind popped out.

Now, as many of you know, I have three dogs. Bill and Roswell who are brothers at six this month and Jada.

Jada will be 16 in July.

We put her on wet food a couple months ago. Usually, she eats a 16 oz can at every meal. Unfortunately, the last time we went shopping they only had the bigger cans. So we split the can up over two meals, much to her dismay.

And now, much to my dismay.

For I was seconds away from slamming about eight ounces of Pedigree dog food on my Dagwood Special.

I tossed it back into the container.

It was the best bologna sandwich I have had in a while.

Michael Cole is a syndicated columnist that when he is not writing, he is plotting global domination or the perfect sandwich. You can follow him at www.storyoveracup.com