Wordy, but worth it!

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 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.