Don't Yell At The Dog Over Spilled Milk

To fully appreciate what I'm going to tell you, you need to know that from our front door, it is 16 feet straight across the living room to the doorway into the kitchen. From that doorway it's another 12 feet to the front of the kitchen sink.
Now I shall begin: Church eating events seem to get the best of me. The most recent escapade was last friday night. Our mens group was going to meet at church to assemble breakfast casseroles for a Saturday morning breakfast. We were hosting the Omahaland Association.
I reached home with only 5 minutes to load up the supplies I was going to take to church with me.
I had some groceries in my van when I arrived home that I needed to put in the house before I started bringing my supplies out. I had all of the groceries in my hands, (don't you love the plastic sacks, you can load soooo many groceries in each hand.)
As I reached the front door I had one empty finger left to trip the storm door. As it opened, the dog tried to get in and at the same time the wind caught the door and ripped it out of my fingers grasp. I tried to stop the dog from entering the house and save the door and it's closing cylinder, by trying to use another finger to catch the door. So I missed the door and dropped the gallon of milk I was holding in my right hand.
The milk landed on it's top on our concrete porch. As it lit it apparently built up a lot of pressure which it released through a small slit that developed.
I was standing squarely in the middle of the door and it soaked my jeans from the knees down. I had so much milk on me that one wouldn't have thought much could have gotten past me.
Wrong.
The storm door, the inside door, the door to the closet which is on your immediate left and the entry floor were all white washed.. That wouldn't have been bad but the milk squirted all over the living room carpet and walls, and ceiling, plus the doorway into the kitchen (remember a distance of 16 feet) and on into the kitchen where it painted all of the appliances, floor and kitchen sink.
It would have taken me 5 minutes with a Hudson sprayer to duplicate this.
I immediately said something. I don't remember what however. I know it was very brief. Maybe just a word..or two. But whatever it was that I said, made the dog leave. Or maybe she left because of the way I said it.
But that's okay, I'm pretty sure it was the dogs fault anyway.
Addendum: This reminded me of a story we used to tell back when I was a kid. Seems that during world war II, pilots trained over the homeland by dropping 'dummy' bombs. They didn't blow up but it was good practice. On one occasion they accidentally dropped a live round into a pasture. It lit next to, and blew up a cow that was being milked at the time of the explosion. The cow was blown to smitherings. (here you quit telling the joke and wait for the listener to ask) Well, what happen to the farmer?
A: He was left holding the bag.
Yes I'll stop.