A year or so back, the wife won a weekend for two, with free champagne, at one of our better local motels. And we used it. A night and morning without the boys. It had been a long time since that had happened.

So when a similar package was auctioned off by the same motel last year, she bid. And bid high.

We used our "champagne night" last Saturday, as part of her birthday celebration. After the auction, after the memorial service, after running the youngest son to the basketball game.

To be honest, I was tired. The wife did all the packing, all the preparation for dinner for the son and his night home alone. After enjoying a good steak dinner at the motel restaurant, I could easily have slept.

But women have such natural talents for rousing men, and my wife soon had my full attention. I almost wish I could write a Date Report, like Badsnake, but let's just say we stayed up quite late and finished the whole bottle of champagne (should I mention I like mine warmed?).

Sunday morning was a pleasant, comforting breakfast at the motel. And then home to fetch youngest son for mass.

After dropping the two of them off at church (wife's godson was with his dad), the three heelers and I had to race back to the motel.

I had forgotten the doggie box in the motel room refrigerator. The styrofoam box full of steak, sausage, bacon, cornbread, butter and sour cream. Everything you need to warm a heeler's tummy (or test their conscience, as I was to discover).

No snickers or complaint from the gal at the desk, even though she had to reprogram a key just so I could get in to the room to retrieve dog scraps (wife had called in advance, so I couldn't lie and pretend we had forgotten something important).

To avoid announcing to the entire staff that I drove six miles to retrieve meat scraps for pets, I decided to leave the box in the SUV (with the heelers) while I returned the key. I placed the box on the floor, covered it with the Sunday paper and directly threatened the two heeler sisters who had already sniffed out the treats.

Then a short walk into the desk, and immediate return. At max, I was gone two minutes. Probably less.

As I exited the building, I noticed the little maskless heeler sitting pretty and alert in the driver's seat.

How cute!

Then I noticed the big butt of her mother between the bucket seats, head down and out of sight. The little maskless lookout quickly nudged her mother's shoulder, and then bailed to the back.

Out of my reach.

In those two minutes the masked heeler had managed to retrieve the styrofoam box, figure out how to open it, and dump all the contents out on the passenger seat. Where she was quickly trying to sort meat from corn bread, while her mother simultaneously tried to chew the wife's half-steak into swallowable pieces.

Needless to say, we had a scene in the parking lot with language that is probably not appropriate on a Sunday.

The masked heeler got a quick snap of fingers against the unshaven half of her sacred butt. Her first real reprimand since getting run over. She was shocked and dismayed, her ears down with shame all the way to the coffee shack and back to the church.

After I wiped the seat clean of steak juices, bacon grease, butter and sour cream.

They got no treats until we got home.