This was sent to me by a friend and was too funny not to share!
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 about whom you know nothing 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 for family, extended family, and a lot of
friends that I like more than family most of the time.
I was 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 darn house that worked,
thus the assignment.
I made the decision to cook the rolls on Wed evening to reheat Thurs am.
Since the kitchen was freshly painted, you can imagine the odor. Not
wanting the rolls to smell like Sherwin Williams #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 it 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.
We arose at 7:30 and as we always do first thing; put the dog out to
relieve himself. 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 grass 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 back yard 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 Muskogeeon 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 I, 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 Karen’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 drunken 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 Karen’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 with stood 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 darn 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?
~Author Unknown~
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