I've gotten this before via email, but today I was finally able to read thru the whole thing without stopping breathing (much). WARNING put down anything drimkable or edible before reading:
Jasper and the Uncooked 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 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 Charlie 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 dogs out
to relieve themselves. Well, the damn 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 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, Charlie 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 Charlie
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 f *rt 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 damn 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?
Jasper and the Uncooked 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 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 Charlie 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 dogs out
to relieve themselves. Well, the damn 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 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, Charlie 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 Charlie
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 f *rt 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 damn 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?
Comments
Still rotfl...