Let us just say that it is a hectic morning. Perhaps a member of your family, who may be known as Laura’s husband except he prefers to be left off of the internet and go anonymous so wouldn’t want to be known as that, has to have surgery.

Hypothetically speaking, your dogs might be shit out of luck that day and have a long day at home with no fun. Being nice, you take the dogs down to the beach real early in the fog, before the hectic day begins. Oh. Did I just say the words shit out of luck? Why would I ever say something like that?

And this particular morning, being the way it is, will of course involve a dog who decides he should leap from a cliff down to a sea cave at highish tide. And human feces. And men’s underpants. And socks. I mean, really. Gross. Just gross.

The story ends just fine. There were no stunt men needed in helicopters for dog rescues, the dog just had to climb. Unpositive words may have been shouted at a bad dog. Loudly. In a very, very mean, grouchy, asshole yelling voice. I mean, come on. There were stained, random underpants. And a sea cave.

Best part of the story, very successful surgery. The rest of the story, best left forgotten, just like those undergarments.