This is by NO MEANS my story...someone sent it to me and I got a good kick out of it.....here you go:

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 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 darn 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 8:30pm. 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 dog out to relieve
himself. Well, the darn 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 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 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 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 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?

 

cliffs' notes?

 

 

Good Read.