Lessons learned

I’ve been doing some magnificent coughing. So much, in fact, it kept the both of us awake last night. I could’ve taken some Benadryl to knock me out (same active ingredient as all OTC sleep aids! Who knew?), but after having taken the maximum recommended dosage of ibuprofen and Tussin yesterday, I wasn’t in the mood to load up on more junk. In retrospect, this was a dumb idea. Where sleep is concerned, do what you must. I digress.
Yesterday, I toodled downstairs when I remembered that I’d seen the box of ice cream was still there last time I checked. “Ice cream is sure to soothe a throat full of razor blades,” I thought. I knew there was little left, but even a couple spoonfuls would’ve done me good. Here’s what I found:

I am reminded of the time in my adolescence before we had a scheduled trash pickup and we burned our trash about once a week. Such a routine left plenty of time for enterprising animals to take a crack at the trash cans, you see. We had a couple dogs, one of which was particularly fond of mischief, and she had a couple good runs at dragging out and depositing the kitchen trash all over the yard and side pasture before Dad stepped in with what seems like an odd solution in retrospect:
(Artist’s rendering)
Those are milk jugs he fastened around the dog’s collar. I can’t remember if it worked, of course. But I suspect it did, because this tactic was tried a second time, when the same dog started having trouble with chasing and killing the chickens. I wasn’t in the mood to sketch deceased chickens. Moving on…
If I thought I could get away with carrying out the same sort of justice without having to deal with dirty clothes and/or household surfaces, I’d try this:
(Artist’s rendering)
Betcha he wouldn’t try that again.