I have never been a veggie fan. On the contrary, almost everything I like to eat is fattening: breads, pastas, pizzas, chips, fried foods, barbeque, etc. I know, it's bad for me. So does my wife, Lauri. She is always trying--usually in vain--to improve my diet. It was such an effort that led her to make brussel sprouts one evening.

It should be noted that I hate brussel sprouts. Indeed, were I to rate veggies on a scale of 1 to 10 with, say, fresh corn on the cob being a nine and turnip greens (a southern dish) being a one, I would have to give brussel sprouts a negative number.

As we were sitting down for supper, she insisted that our boys eat the little green leafy balls. I remained silent, hoping to go unnoticed. She examined my plate. Controversy ensued. Finally, in an effort to appease her, I agreed to eat one. The boys watched with anticipation as I spooned one out onto my plate. A pregnant silence and all eyes were upon me as I cut the bane of my existence with the edge of my fork.

And that's when it happened.

The sprout squirted--no, rocketed--off of my plate and in a nanosecond, Blitz, our German Shepherd, had snatched it from the air and consumed it. Once again, there was an awkward silence. Lauri looked at me menacingly, but then the boys burst into uncontrollable laughter. I shrugged my shoulders, smiled innocently, and said with great sincerity, "I tried." All laughed and I was off the hook.

Dog. Man's best friend.