Sure enough Max the eating machine swiped the butter and ran off with it, then wolfed the lot.
Tick tock tick tock, the waiting game began. Which end would it emerge from and what would it look like? Surprisingly it wasn't until later that night when he ralphed up his entire yellowy stomach contents, lubricated by beurre gastronomique, all over our living room rug. Nice.
Oh the joy of scooping up a kilo of labrador sick...
