Until the mosquitoes finally drove me inside about midnight. It wasn't until I was telling this story at the tavern the other Saturday that the final piece of the puzzle finally clicked into place. Something I never, ever considered before, until it quite unconsciously spilled out of my mouth. The hot dog factory. It was a perfect set up.
Cows come down the hill, go to the slaughterhouse, get bonked on the head and cut up.
Everything that can't be used is dumped back into the trucks, sent back up the hill, and delivered to the hot dog factory, where they were turned into the franks that were sold at Lambeau Field during the Packer games. I always had a couple of them when I went to Lambeau. Reimer's were the best because they had unusually thick casings and were extra spicy. We went back to our beer after my story was done, and the conversation moved on to something else, and then something else again. And even though I'd had a big lunch already that day, I suddenly found myself with an insatiable craving for a Reimer's dog with mustard.