She Won't Be Back Anytime Soon

I was glad PhillyTwo was "home alone" Sunday morning, but I'm pretty sure she was sorry she had stopped by the ol' hacienda instead of hightailing it back to her bachelorette pad in the wee hours of the morning. We just happened to be the closest choice, and as it turned out, that was most unlucky for her, but pretty damned lucky for us.
It was probably mid-morning when the incident occurred, so Ron and I were out smacking eggs (golf). Poor little Fred couldn't wake PhillyTwo from her coma when the urge overtook him, so he proceeded to gallop hysterically around the kitchen, allowing a steady stream of brown liquid to spew from his butt. Apparently it was a huge stinky mess, which called for fast action from the unfortunate smeller/discoverer (PhillyTwo) when she finally arose from the dead, probably around noon. Just glad it wasn't me who walked into that sewage plant. She dived in, so to speak, and quickly righted things in our kitchen. We were so grateful that we treated her to a nice dinner out, because, really, what is the going rate for cleaning up buckets of doggie diarrhea?