That Little Shit!
With the Sox off last night and nothing going on in the Ilk household, I decided to whip up some of my moderately-famous low-fat banana bread...in spite of the fact that it's like 95 degrees out. I slaved in the kitchen for an hour, swearing at my not-ripe-enough bananas and bitching about how the batter just didn't seem to look right in the breadpan.
In the end the bread came out delicious, and I made sure to have a few slices gobbed in butter as my after-work snack when I got home today. I sealed the bag back up and put it toward the edge of the counter.
K and I ran a couple walking errands right after she got home today and were gone for about 10 minutes. Carson the wonderbeagle had just gone for his afternoon walk/ass-sniffing and we'd be figured he'd be fine if he stayed out of his crate for a little bit.
Wrong-o.
The little bastard somehow managed to get his greasy grimy little paws on the counter (which is a pretty impressive feat considering his fairly small size and fat gut) and pull the bag down. He then proceeded to rip the bag open and gobble every last bit of the bread up. We got home, and he was sprawled out in front of the TV with the doggie equivalent of a shit-eating grin on his face.
I'm not looking forward to the inevitable whining and whimpering that I'm sure I'll hear at about 11:30 tonight when he's really really really gotta go out.
With the Sox off last night and nothing going on in the Ilk household, I decided to whip up some of my moderately-famous low-fat banana bread...in spite of the fact that it's like 95 degrees out. I slaved in the kitchen for an hour, swearing at my not-ripe-enough bananas and bitching about how the batter just didn't seem to look right in the breadpan.
In the end the bread came out delicious, and I made sure to have a few slices gobbed in butter as my after-work snack when I got home today. I sealed the bag back up and put it toward the edge of the counter.
K and I ran a couple walking errands right after she got home today and were gone for about 10 minutes. Carson the wonderbeagle had just gone for his afternoon walk/ass-sniffing and we'd be figured he'd be fine if he stayed out of his crate for a little bit.
Wrong-o.
The little bastard somehow managed to get his greasy grimy little paws on the counter (which is a pretty impressive feat considering his fairly small size and fat gut) and pull the bag down. He then proceeded to rip the bag open and gobble every last bit of the bread up. We got home, and he was sprawled out in front of the TV with the doggie equivalent of a shit-eating grin on his face.
I'm not looking forward to the inevitable whining and whimpering that I'm sure I'll hear at about 11:30 tonight when he's really really really gotta go out.
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