Caught

My dog keeps getting into the trash. I have one of those fancy smancy trashcans that has a lid on it that you have to step on the pedal to open so there is really no excuse for this to keep happening. It’s mostly my fault because the bag will get full and I will pull it out but once I pull it out I realize that I could conceivably stuff ½ ton more trash into it so I will leave it sitting in the corner of the kitchen until I feel it is sufficiently stuffed with trash and only then will I take it into the garage. And three times in the last week I have forgotten to take it into the garage before we leave to go somewhere. And every freaking time Guinness will get into it and we will come home to trash strewn all over the kitchen. Last week he got the Honeybaked ham wrapper from our Christmas ham and licked it clean. He smelled so much like smoked meat that I had to break down and give him a bath. Dave kept saying, “Hmmm, why do I feel so hungry? Maybe because there is a Honeybaked Ham sitting on my lap.”

So here’s the worst part. Right before Christmas Dave decided to help me out by doing the grocery shopping and he brought me home a box of chocolates. And he was so proud of himself. But between you and me, they weren't very good and Christmas came and there were so many other better things to eat that the chocolates just sat on the counter. And finally today I decided to just throw them away. I didn’t tell him they weren’t that good, I just sort of buried them in the trash. But then I left the trash bag in the kitchen when we went to dinner with Dave’s family and dammit wouldn’t you know that Guinness helped himself to the trash. So we come home and there is my box of chocolates laying in the middle of the kitchen floor and you better believe it’s empty now. So I immediately freak out and start yelling about how the dog ate chocolate and he’s going to die. And Dave looks at me and says, “There were chocolates left in it?”

Great Guinness. Thanks.