When Life Gives You Lemons...

I am in a bit of a murderous rage right now, so if you live in my immediate vicinity, you might want to stay out of my way. Except that I am not angry at you directly. It is our effing dog that I desire to strangle right now.
Let me give you some background. So, the car place calls this afternoon (this is the silver lining of this otherwise grim tale) and says that there was just a bulge in the tire, and nothing else seriously wrong. They've fixed it already, and we can come get it at four o' clock. Also, not that expensive of a problem, the tire bulge. We were relieved.
But I was having a really gross day today, not so much nauseous as just bloated and heartburn-plagued and tired, and I was just kind of dragging around, alternating between napping and digging through the messy kitchen for something tempting. I hadn't washed my hair yet, I hadn't so much as loaded the dishwasher, and I was feeling gross. But we had to hurry up and get ready to reverse this morning's two-car errand. So I'm hurrying as much as possible with a stomach in gassy knots, trying to get Addy out the door, and of course in the process she has a diaper blowout, and then knocks my glass of pink lemonade all over the floor. Pink lemonade is not the easiest of liquids to just wipe up, fyi. I had to change her clothes, change my socks, and mop down half the kitchen floor. Then we could leave.
So, fine, we get there, drop Jim off, and Addy and I head for home. (I should mention here that dear sweet husband volunteered to go to the store for me after work so I wouldn't have to face the world with greasy hair and last night's smudged mascara. Major points.) I get home without incident, head off to Adelay's room to put her down for a nap, and there in the middle of the living room carpet is the freaking poop blowout diaper torn open, wipes and all, and a couple of wet diapers drug out as well, sort of spread around the dirty one like the appetizers displayed around the main course.
That was the last straw. My tolerance for annoyance is a little low today, admittedly, but I mean.... This was about the grossest thing I could even have imagined. I managed to compose myself long enough to put Adelay to bed, but then I carried on a swearing tirade for a good long while, as I gathered up the half-eaten diapers (this I cannot even think about,) sprayed and scrubbed the carpet, and then vacuumed up the plastic-y diaper debris. The dog, all the while, skulked guiltily in the corner, his ears low and his eyes sad and mellow.
Well, sorry, dog, but no sad puppy eyes can sway me from my utter horror and disgust at the crime you have committed in this very house today. You ate shit. I don't care how bored any mammal gets, there is just no excuse to go rooting around in a diaper pail looking for a snack. Trash can, sure. Dig out a chicken wing, a discarded donut hole. This I understand. But a desire to ingest another creature's excrement? No. Do not ask me for pity.