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We have a fox terrier by the name of Jasper. He came to us in the summer
of 2001 from the fox terrier rescue program. For those of you who are
unfamiliar with this type of adoption, imagine taking in a 10 year old
child whom you know nothing about and committing to doing your best to
be a good parent.
Like a child, the dog came with his own idiosyncrasies. He will only
sleep on the bed, on top of the covers, nuzzled as close to my face as
he can get without actually performing a French kiss on me. Lest you
think this is a bad case of no discipline, I should tell you that Perry
and I tried every means to break him of this habit including locking him
in a separate bedroom for several nights. The new door cost over $200.
But I digress.
Five weeks ago we began remodeling our house. Although the cost of the
project is downright obnoxious, it was 20 years overdue AND it got me
out of cooking Thanksgiving dinner for family, extended family and a lot
of friends that I like more than family most of the time. I was,
however, assigned the task of preparing 124 of my famous yeast dinner
rolls for the two Thanksgiving feasts we did attend. I am still cursing
the electrician for getting the new oven hooked up so quickly. It was
the only appliance in the whole house that worked, thus the assignment.
I made the decision to cook the rolls on Wednesday evening to reheat on
Thursday morning. Since the kitchen was freshly painted you can imagine
the odor. Not wanting the rolls to smell like Sherwin Williams latex
paint #586, I put the rolls on baking sheets and set them in the living
room to rise for 5 hours. After 3 hours, Perry and I decided to go out
to eat, returning in about an hour.
An hour later the rolls were ready to go in the oven. It was 8:30 pm.
When I went to the living room to retrieve the pans, much to my shock
one whole pan of 12 rolls was empty. I called out to Jasper and my worst
nightmare became a reality. He literally wobbled over to me. He looked
like a combination of the Pillsbury dough boy and the Michelin Tire man
wrapped up in fur. He groaned when he walked. I swear even his cheeks
were bloated.
I ran to the phone and called our vet. After a few seconds of uproarious
laughter, he told me the dog would probably be OK, however, I needed to
give him Pepto Bismol every 2 hours for the rest of the night.
God only knows why I thought a dog would like Pepto Bismol any more than
my kids did when they were sick. Suffice to say that by the time we went
to bed the dog was black, white and pink. He was so bloated we had to
lift him onto the bed for the night.
Naively thinking the dog would be all better by morning was very stupid
on my part. We arose at 7:30 and as we always do first thing; put the
dogs out to relieve themselves. Well, the dog was as drunk as a sailor
on his first leave. He was running into walls, falling flat on his butt
and most of the time when he was walking his front half was going one
direction and the other half was either dragging the floor or headed 90
degrees in another direction. He couldn't lift his leg to pee, so he
would just walk and pee at the same time. When he ran down the small
incline in our backyard he couldn't stop himself and nearly ended up
running into the fence. His pupils were dilated and he was as dizzy as a
loon. I endured another few seconds of laughter from the vet (second
call within 12 hours) before he explained that the yeast had fermented
in his belly and that he was indeed drunk. He assured me that, not
unlike most binges we humans go through, it would wear off after about 4
or 5 hours and to keep giving him Pepto Bismol.
Afraid to leave him by himself in the house, Perry and I loaded him up
and took him with us to my sister's house for the first Thanksgiving
meal of the day. My sister lives outside of Muskogee on a ranch, (10 to
15 minute drive). Rolls firmly secured in the trunk (124 less 12) and
drunk dog leaning from the back seat onto the console of the car between
Perry and me, we took off. Now I know you probably don't believe that
dogs burp, but believe me when I say that after eating a tray of risen
unbaked yeast rolls, DOGS WILL BURP. These burps were pure Old Charter.
They would have matched or beat any smell in a drunk tank at the police
station. But that's not the worst of it. Now he was beginning to fart
and they smelled like baked rolls. God strike me dead if I am not
telling the truth! We endured this for the entire trip to Karee's,
thankful she didn't live any further away than she did.
Once Jasper was firmly placed in my sister's garage with the door
locked, we finally sat down to enjoy our first Thanksgiving meal of the
day. The dog was the topic of conversation all morning long and everyone
made trips to the garage to witness my drunk dog, each returning with a
tale of Jasper's latest endeavor to walk without running into something.
Of course, as the old adage goes, "what goes in must come out," and
Jasper was no exception. Granted if it had been me that had eaten 12
risen, unbaked yeast rolls, you might as well have put a concrete block
up my behind, but alas a dog's digestive system is quite different from
yours or mine. I discovered this was a mixed blessing when we prepared
to leave Karee's house. Having discovered his "packages" on the garage
floor, we loaded him up in the car so we could hose down the floor.
This was another naive decision on our part. The blast of water from the
hose hit the poop on the floor, and the poop on the floor withstood the
blast from the hose. It was like Portland cement beginning to set up and
cure. We finally tried to remove it with a shovel. I (obviously no one
else was going to offer their services) had to get on my hands and knees
with a coarse brush to get the remnants off of the floor.
And as if this wasn't degrading enough, the dog in his drunken state had
walked through the poop and left paw prints all over the garage floor
that had to be brushed too.
Well, by this time the dog was sobering up nicely so we took him home
and dropped him off before we left for our second Thanksgiving dinner at
Perry's sister's house. I am happy to report that as of today (Monday)
the dog is back to normal both in size and temperament. He has had a
bath and is no longer tricolor. None the worse for wear I presume.
I am also happy to report that just this evening I found 2 risen unbaked
yeast rolls hidden inside my closet door. It appears he must have come
to his senses after eating 10 of them but decided hiding 2 of them for
later would not be a bad idea.
Now, I'm doing research on the computer as to 'How to Clean Unbaked Dough
From the Carpet', and how was your day? ~ Warren
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Lighter Side Archive
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