IT'S CALLED COUNTER SURFING...I DON'T LIKE IT

I made some french fries last night and busted Theo with them in the middle of the kitchen floor. We were not 10 feet away and didn't hear a thing. I just happened to look into the kitchen and there he was, munching on my fries and sweet mustard still on the drain paper towel...he left the paper plate, on the counter, undisturbed. Stealth counter surfing!
There's no point in scolding him and no excuse for smacking his ass. Besides, he has moderate hip dysplasia, so smacking his ass is out of the question.
So I just said "Theo!What have you got"? He stopped his fry fest and gave me that waggy tail I'm so cute look and moved away from the fries. I said "You can't have those" and picked them up and threw them away. He retired to his pallet and waited for the next thing I would leave within reach and unattended.
Theo is the king of counter surfing...a couple of years ago he ate an entire tube of bacitracin antibiotic ointment I left out on the coffee table. His punishment? He got yummy yogurt with his food for a few days to re-establish his stomach microbes...smart dog.
Sunday night I made ground pork enchiladas...a whole pan full. Ann and I managed to eat half the pan, leaving the remaining half sitting on the stove. I went to bed before Ann and neglected to put them away. Ann followed shortly after and also forgot to put them away.
I woke up the next morning and remembered I had forgotten and when I saw no pan on the stove thought Ann had put them away. I opened the fridge...no pan of delicious pork enchiladas.
I found the pan under the work table next to the stove, licked clean.
We didn't hear a thing...no pan clanging as it hit the floor...I sleep light, it would have woken me up.
So, we assumed Theo had grabbed the pan off a 36" high work table and gingerly/silently lowered it to the floor sometime in the middle of the night,placed his paw in the pan to prevent it from scraping/sliding around on the tile while he ate my beloved leftovers.
Until Ann got home and let them out of the bedrooms (kind of like crating only room size).
The stench that emanated from Sullivans room revealed the culprit...there was no steaming pile of satan anywhere...just horrible,HORRIBLE farts...that have continued through today.
You could win a war with this gas, or at the very least,clear a stadium.
Somebody light a match...or as cheech said long long ago "Fuchi Cabasa! My eyes are burnin'"!!!
Gotta love your dogs...:)