This is a scream! I got this in an email, and just have to share:
Jasper and the Unbaked Yeast
Rolls
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 rearend 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 relieve himself, so he would just walk and wet 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 expel gas 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 poop 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 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? |
