Antics of Gus the Beagle

Gus woke up this morning with an energy unrivaled by even a fourth grader with a can of Surge...make that crack cocaine. He tore through the house like a tornado hurtling across a prairie and skidded to a stop at the foot of my bed at 6:36am. After a directly vertical leap from the floor to the small of my (sleeping) back, Gus spun himself into three frantic circles and threw himself beside my now-awakened form on the bed. He remained frozen as a statue for about 30 seconds as he stared into my face panting puppy chow breath at close range. I think he was smiling.
Thoroughly unamused by me, Gus tore off the bed and out of the bedroom in a black streak which made not one, but two complete laps around the house at full speed before returning to my side as though to say, "Get up! I'm ready for my day!" When he began nosing my arm with his cold wet nose, I dragged myself out of bed and let Gus outside to go play with the birds and other important things. I was just about to step into the shower when I heard, "OWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! OWOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" This is not your average howl. This is Gus' "I've found a scent that needs dealing with" howl. The "Something with scent had the nerve to walk on MY yard" howl. It is long lasting and ear piercing. It has been scientifically proven that it is impossible to sleep through this noise.
Since the homeowners association is already concerned about my garden, I threw on my bathrobe and raced into the backyard to begin chasing the Baying Beast around the grass. The last thing I need it neighbor complaints. I looked down at myself. I was in the YARD in a bathrobe. Who does that?? I was becoming that person that people peek out their windows to stare at. Shrugged shoulders and resumed task at hand. Began to chase Gus. Stopped to tighten robe. Resumed chasing Gus. Caught Gus. Beat Gus. Put Gus in house. Went to continue shower. Upon completion of my shower, I opened the door to find Gus waiting just on the other side looking sad and....quiet? Something was definitely wrong. With Gus dragging dutifully behind me, I began my systematic search of the house.
Beds? Pillows in place, blankets okay. Remotes and phones? Still in place, no new gnaw marks. Carpets? No new holes. Plants? Relatively unmussed, dirt in pots. Pens? In holder. Everything looked okay. I turned back to Gus who had now laid miserably on the carpet with his head resting on his paws, back legs outstretched, big brown eyes looking mournfully at me. His long ears crumpled on the floor and his tail tried to wag weakly. I followed his gaze to the doorway. Lying on the floor was what had been a brand new loaf of bread thawing on the counter the night before. What remained was carnage. Torn plastic and about 5 pieces of mangled bread.
I looked back at Gus whose tail was now thumping proudly on the floor and realized how round he had become. He looks like a black furry sausage link. The dog was full of bread. Mrs. Baird's Extra Thin White Bread. Most of a loaf. Needless to say, Gus hasn't had a lot of activity today. He waddled outside for a bit and flopped on his bloated side in the sun. I hastily made him come back in...doesn't yeast expand in heat? I didn't want to see bursted beagle. After walking through the door, he promptly had the audacity to beg for a treat. Not gonna happen, buddy.