No, before you get worried, nothing bad has happened. Not anything of real gravity.
But, the other night I spent hours baking bread. I love homemade bread, especially homemade bread from my grandmother's recipe. It is sad to me that I don't have a whole lot of memories of my dad's mom, but I do remember her cooking. For me, this is a small way for her to live on in my family: I like to cook using her recipes.
So, I baked bread the other night, and since it takes a long time and I don't do it often, I made a double batch, resulting in four loaves. You can imagine how pleased (or not) I was to discover that Lily (my Great Dane) had eaten a half loaf. I was so stricken at the waste of it that I haven't brought myself to throw it away. Should I compost it? That, too, seems like a waste. I'm wondering if we should feed it to the ducks at Columbian Park so we at least get some pleasure out of it.
The remaining loaves:
The disfigured, ruined one: