It seemed like a good idea at the time...

Yesterday I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Mommy and Daddy had gone out to eat for Daddy's birthday on Sunday and they brought me home a steak bone. How yummy is that? I saw them take it out of the fridge and my mouth started watering. I was secretly hoping it was for me but I didn't want to look too eager... Who am I kidding? I was jumping up and down as if to say, "Pick me! Pick me!" As luck would have it, it was indeed for me and they gave it to me to take outside in the yard to chew on. At first, it was a little awkward because A, I was used to taking all my booty under the dining room table, where I like to savor it in peace. Secondly, it was quite long and I'm not all that big so I wasn't quite sure how to handle it. I started out standing up in the grass, chewing on one end while propping the other end up against the ground. Man, was it tasty. I ate a lot of the bone (about half) and of course when I was done with it, it was completely cleaned off. I came back inside to contentedly snooze on the couch. I woke up this morning, the lovely memories of the yummy bone still with me. Then, I went in my crate while Mommy and Daddy went to work. Then came the badness. I had no idea I would have such GI distress! I never poop in my crate, except for when I first moved in and was trying to adjust to a new home. But today not only did I poop in my crate, I did it twice! When Mommy finally got home, I could hear her say something as she came up the stairs, smelling the poop before she even came inside the bedroom. But she was understanding and didn't get mad at me. I couldn't help it, I swear. And I was miserable all day, huddled up against one corner of the crate away from the poop-covered rug. But Mommy let me outside to run around and get some fresh air while she washed my rug, cleaned and scrubbed my crate, and aired out the bedroom. I guess they take pretty good care of me, even if they do give me treats that make me poop uncontrollably.