I came home from a quick trip to the gym this morning, where I spent a little while on the exercise bike and also enjoyed a rather invigorating walk/jog around the inside track, getting fit to the tune of "In a Big Country" by Big Country, as prescribed by my physical therapist (the walk/jog, not Big Country) and upon opening the door and very noticeably NOT being greeted by the dogs, immediately looked at the kitchen floor where there were shreds of the garbage bag, a couple select pieces of garbage (licked clean, of course) and a tiny mound of poop, the kind you might expect to come out of, oh, say, this kind of dog:

It's almost like after the millisecond or so of triumph they enjoyed when they found a crumb left over from the take-in we got last night and then realized the mess they'd made, they came up with a brilliant plan: poop on it. That way, they thought, our owners will have no idea what to get mad about first when they see all the things we've done wrong, and while they stand there, confused, we'll just be lying here in the living room with our heads down and our eyes shut, and they won't suspect we had anything to do with it.