For starters that was my 2nd favorite oven mitt. Of the precisely two that I own. (TMI: the other being of the silicone variety.) Then I considered the heavy duty silver stuff, that I can only imagine is not particularly good for d oh double g consumption. Double ugh.
I, of course watched Uncle John like a hawk. I gave him a press on his belly area to see if he seemed tender, or troubled by it's contents. Thankfully it seems Uncle John has the constitution of Hercules. By virtue of some crazy ass strong canine digestion and evacuation system he seems to be feelin' fine.
For the official record, I'd left the damn oven mitt on the counter. Evidently, not far enough back that on his lil' schnauzer tippy toes he couldn't reach that mitt. Something has to be super close to the edge for him to be able to appropriate it, so I could only be sooo angry with him, as I, apparently, share in the blame.
(Note to self: Don't cook anything big. You now have no way to hold sumthin' hot with two hands.)