I was at my devious, intelligent best at grandma and grandpa's this weekend.

After dinner, while they were all relaxing inside the house, Piper and I sniffed the recently used bbq. It smelled amazing. We licked a few of the utensils. He appeared to be satisfied with that. I wanted more.

More, more, more more.

My superior intelligence enabled me to remove the dripping pan from below the bbq. This pan catches fat and meat juices. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. (along with a lot of charcoal and black stuff).

I carried the pan away from the bbq and ate every last bit of the black stuff inside it.

They eventually busted me, but I had already consumed the contents of the drip pan, so, whatever.

The barfing started around 11pm. First I barfed on the carpet (grandma wasn't too pleased that I puked charcoal all over her beige carpet). Then I barfed on the floor. Then on Piper's dog bed.

I continued to barf on Sunday, and some more early this morning.

Lesli worked at home with me today so she could make sure I was ok. She figured all was fine - my body was rejecting the crap I shoved into it, just as it should - but she wanted to watch me just in case (and clean her carpets immediately after I barfed on them).

Apparently, she doesn't want our beige carpet to have black splotches on it.

I don't see what the big deal is.

Anyway, I've been barf-free since around 10:30 this morning.

Would I do it again?

Absolutely!