White Dog stopped to sniff the fingers I was cradling in my lap before she headed out to the kitchen to join the cleanup frenzy. My fingers were burnt from trying to stop Trixie from grabbing the hot pan of just out of the oven roasted chicken that needed to cool before it could be pulled from the bone for this week's White Dog meals.
I saved the hot bird by covering it with my hands in a football catch but the juices and drippings sloshed into the kitchen floor causing a boomtime rush by the White Dog Army to help clean up the slippery divinely chicken-y spill..
While Steve was trying to spread flour to absorb the grease, the WDA was licking and slurping...and blocking his way. Not a single pup was listening to his "Leave It!" command or his pleas to "Come on, guys, please! You are just spreading the mess."
Eventually, he realized that only a firm grip on the collar to physically remove each pup and then shutting the door would give him the space and peace to actually clean up. I accepted collars to give paws a quick swipe to prevent tracking chicken juice all over and to keep the line moving OUT of the kitchen.
The WDA stood at the closed door crying piteously.
After an interim which involved hearing Steve sweeping up the engorged flour, filling the kitchen bucket and the sounds of mopping, Steve emerged carrying the bucket which he took outside to dump out. The Army followed him, sniffing, and returned to follow him to the utility sink to clean out the mop.
When they realized that there was no more chicken goodness that was going to flow their way, the Army turned its attention to pointing out that dinner was now officially late.