Clara stared at her blank canvas, fingers twitching with creative energy. The scent of lavender glue hung in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of paint tubes. She’d promised to make a ‘modern masterpiece’ for the neighborhood art show—until her golden retriever, Buster, decided the glue bottle was a chew toy.
The first splash happened at 3:07 p.m. Buster yanked the bottle from her hand, sending a gooey arc across the floor. Clara gasped. “No! Not the $12 Mod Podge!” She lunged, but Buster danced away, tail wagging like a metronome. By 3:14, the kitchen was a mosaic of sticky puddles and shredded newspaper.
“Okay, okay,” Clara muttered, raiding the pantry. She grabbed flour, sugar, and a bag of rice, hoping to absorb the mess. The rice sprinkled like confetti, until Buster sneezed. The entire bowl flew into the air, coating her hair in a glittering trap.
At 4:00 p.m., Clara surrendered. She dipped her fingers into the glue puddle, swirled them across the canvas, and added a handful of rice grains for texture. Buster leaned in, licked her cheek, and barked. “You’re a genius,” she said, smearing a glob of glue on his nose. He responded by licking the canvas, leaving a trail of slobber that somehow looked intentional.
The art show was a disaster. The judges stared. The crowd giggled. But Clara didn’t care. Her piece, *Buster’s Breakfast*, sold for $500—enough to buy a new glue bottle, a vet bill, and a lifetime supply of patience.
