Well, it finally happened. I knew when I got a dog, I couldn't avoid it forever. Yes, we reenacted the infamous scene from A Christmas Story: the dog ate our dinner. Much like the turkey that the Bumpass hounds consumed, we were having a little rotisserie chicken. Don't know what scene I'm talking about? Well, here ya go.
Warning: language may include such technical non-dictionary terminology as 'sonsabiches.'
It was actually tomorrow's dinner, since, to be completely accurate, the dog ate tonight's dinner leftovers. We had already eaten our meal, which included part of the aforementioned chicken, and I was planning to pack the second half back into the fridge for tomorrow. No such luck. By the time I got to it, there was just a lot of chicken strewn about the floor, and a guilty-as-sin dog trying to wolf as much down as he could.
Look at this guilty culprit. Guess who spent the rest of the evening in the back yard?
Honestly, though, I think I can recover from this. Because after gathering up the scraps, there was at least 1/4 of the bird left on the floor. Not enough for an entire meal, BUT....I think tomorrow's dinner is gonna be OK after all. We all like chicken soup. And what the kids don't know, can't hurt them ;-)
Because goodness knows, there's no money for Chinese food.