you don’t want to read this story

WARNING: perhaps not for the faint of stomach...

The people went away to Nicaragua for six weeks. They departed at mid-day, leaving their dogs locked in the kitchen with a couple of large (20”) meat bones.
My friend had agreed to house-sit/cat-sit/dog-sit, so I drove her to the house on the first day.
We got there about 9pm. There was a funny smell.
“Oh, I hope the dogs didn’t poop in the kitchen” she said.
We opened the kitchen door, hoping not to see a dog turd on the floor, and just stood there for a while.
There were two large bones (I think they were from a dinosaur) in the middle of the floor with all the meat chewed off.
There were various kitchen items strewn about the floor.
There was a large pool of urine.
There were numerous (ie, ~10) gargantuan piles of dog diarrhea covering the floor, the cabinets, and the dishwasher.
There was a pile of dog vomit (gray, with chips, if you’re interested).
There was half a pile of dog vomit next to the floor vent, the other half having gone down into the furnace duct.
There was on overwhelming stench, and two carefree dogs, clearly feeling much better, cavorting and barking and happy to see us.

The next hour was unpleasant. The End.