Speaking too soon

This Sunday was no different than any other Sunday.
Church, rest and food.|
As always, the parentals joined us for dinner.

We enjoyed the usual after-dinner discussion at the table.
The question was posed: Has Chester ever gotten into the Crock Pot?
I proudly boasted …“NO”. I explained that I usually booby-trap the Crock Pot, 
surrounding it with  small appliances and doggy shockers.

Today, being a holiday, I was able to stay home and plan an extra nice dinner.
Sweet Pork Tacos!! Everyone was looking forward to them.
(Did you notice the word WAS?)

I carefully planned the timing. Marinade, slow cook, shred, dinner by 5:30.
The pork was progressing well and the Crock Pot trap was set as we prepared to meet Taylor for lunch.
(She is enrolled in a CNA class, today is her first day.)

When we returned home, it appeared as though the kitchen had been struck by a tornado.
Small appliances were strewn over the floor.
The Crock Pot was dangling off the side of the counter, still set on high, and empty. (Fire hazard?)
The cleaned out crock was on the floor, right next to the wet rug, spotted with meaty remnants.
Chester was panting on the couch, well deserving of a belly ache!

I proceeded with the hour long cleanup.
Scrubbing rugs, mopping floors, washing dishes, shampooing ears.
As I cursed and cleaned, I reminded myself of the last Chester episode.
I promptly searched the couch. Sure enough, a buried chop was discovered.
I tossed it and added the couch to my list of things to scrub.

Afraid of what spoiled meat might do to the air quality inside the house,
I decided to expand my search. Every nook and cranny was checked,
and another chop was discovered buried in the couch in the front room.

Lessons learned:
Chester seems to be undaunted by small shocks when meat is the objective.
The basement is now the preferred site for preparing Crock Pot meals.