Today I rescued a lost dog. He wasn't actually lost as it turned out, but he was alone in the ravine, covered in burrs when I stumbled upon him while walking my own dog. It was easy enough to put a leash on him, so I walked him up to my house and called the number on the dog tag.
After reuniting the dog with his owner who was doing maintenance on a nearby golf course, I bragged to my neighbor that God was definitely going to look after me for the rest of the day.
Maybe that only works after rescuing a dog that is genuinely lost.
After being out and about for most of the day, I returned home to find that my dog had had explosive diarrhea all over my kitchen floor. I'm talking EXPLOSIVE! There was more brown, watery crap in my kitchen than actual visible floor!
I glamorously cleaned that up while a construction crew in my back yard pretended not to watch. At least the guys in the yard didn't have to watch me clean up the dog vomit that ensued in the living room about 15 minutes later. They did however catch a glimpse of me cleaning up my younger daughter whose nose started bleeding profusely at about the same time for no good reason whatsoever!
Exasperated, I shouted out to the guys in the back yard "for the love of God, could there be any more disgusting substances for me to clean up today!???"
They all smirked.