too much of a good thing.

Perhaps inevitably, we woke to a bit of dog barf on the floor by the back door this morning on Martha's Vineyard. Inevitably, because over the weekend when the whole crew were here, Wrigley was the beneficiary of some dinner-table generosity. Several of the treats were willingly given (Uncle Dave's oyster, Grandma's bread); others not so much (the two chunks of english muffin snatched from Harry's hand at breakfast). So there was barfing. Easily cleaned up, and now Wrigley is hiding under the dining table.