Tripping on tuna

I tripped on the tin can by the door, something was fishy, but I ignored it. After all, I trip on a lot of things by the front door. After I tossed my work clothes on my bed and shrugged into a pair of shorts, I stumbled over another tin. Still, I didn't get it. The kitchen called so I wandered in and grabbed some salad. I grabbed a tin from the pantry and opened it. Nothing like some yummy tuna.
And then I heard it.
"Kathy."
Dave was downstairs bellowing and I was tagged with go see what's bothering him duty.
I went downstairs and headed towards the back door. I nearly fell on my face. Littered all through the sunroom were 17 tins of cat food. They were chewed on but still intact. I retraced my steps. Back to the bedroom where, on my bed, yep, my bed, were three more cans. In the blanket next to the bed, in the nest created by the nocturnal circular motions of the big black puppy, were a couple more cans. Downstairs - again. The can by the front door- cat food.
The dog had hunted down the groceries and had grabbed a bag full of tinned meat. She had dragged the bag through the house. She had spent time trying to chew through the metal but didn't succeed.
After all of that effort, Root Beer was denied the kitty chow and had to wait for puppy love. I couldn't help it. After all of that work, I had to give her a bite of tuna.