In which the author discovers that chocolate is bad

My sneaky children were not content to pilfer candy from the gigantic bowl on the counter in the kitchen. Oh no, they had to smuggle some of it up to their room, completely forgetting that the dog has a marvelously wonderful sense of smell coupled with no sense of self-preservation since her wonderful people tend to keep her safe from all harm. Result: all Halloween candy is being bagged up and given to the dance studio where there is a child doing a community service project (donating candy to a local hospital's children's wing). I can't risk yet another doggie projectile vomiting episode in my bedroom. Good thing the comforter is already ruined and the carpet came clean or I'd be skinning my children. As it is, I already contemplated making them sit at the kitchen table and eat candy until *they* barfed but I came to my senses before I commited myself to cleaning yet more yuck (which was of greater concern than the fact that forcing them to eat candy ad nauseum--literally--is probably child abuse).