Anyone who has lived with a dog knows that a time or two, the dog eats something it may regret. Some time ago, I recall Comet quickly eating something he found in the shrubs during our walk. A couple hours later, he purged in the living room. At least he made an effort to get out the doggie door. Perhaps it is a dog’s nature to get into things it should not. Yet it was not the dog who ate a couple pieces of awful brownies I made tonight. Worse, I washed them down with (apparently) expired eggnog. Like the dog, I tend to purge things I regret. Can I blame Baby Boomer childhood programming for regrettable choices?