It started out OK, he got fed, got his post-breakfast goodies (a Cosequin treat) and his walk. We came back, and I wanted to catch up on email, and he wanted attention. Lots of attention. Having some 70 pounds worth dog demanding NOW NOW NOW makes it difficult to work the keyboard.

So, I went to the dining room to see if he needed a thumb or two to get last night's treat out of the hollow bone I'd hidden it in.

And found a big brown gift on the rug.

As soon as I turned on the light, Caz's ears went back, head and tail went down, and he slunk into the other room and lay down on his bed. I never even scolded him.

Luckily, the mess was easy enough to clean up.

But he was quiet and avoided my eye for hours.

He's a PITA, but he really does try to be a good dog, and he certainly knows when he fails.

He felt so guilty he didn't even come to the door to beg for a ride when I left for a writer's group meeting.

By the time I got home, he'd either forgotten his transgression, or hoped I had. He was all bounce and happy to see me and get his lunch and a walk.

The other good news is that once I finally got back to my emails, there was a note that I've sold another story. I can't say a lot yet because they haven't finalized things, but that makes *TWO* sales this year. A new record! Twice as many as short stories as I've ever sold in a year.

Carol heard this story, but did not have any input. I wrote it while she was in the ICU, and read it to her when she woke up. I think she liked it, but I know she would have wanted to proof-read it before it got submitted. It went out the door with two stupid grammar issues that I know she'd have caught.