Compromised

There was a loaf of italian bread sitting in it's paper bag on the kitchen table. The family was down stairs chatting and watching TV when we see one of the dogs go flying by and out the dog door with something suspicious looking in its mouth. Huh. Z and I went outside to investigate and found she had claimed a torn open empty bread wrapper-- and was not giving it back for any reason. We laughed, actually, at the thought of the dog crawling up on the table, devouring an entire loaf of bread then sneaking off to bury the evidence...
We went back inside and climbed the stairs to the first level, chuckling as we went... but what should we find when we reach the top of the stairs? A completely in-tact, untouched loaf of italian bread sitting casusally on the floor at the top of the stairs. Huh. Why would the dog be after the wrapper and not the bread? How did the dog move the bread from the table to the floor without damaging it in any way? And why, oh why, is the sight of a loaf of bread in the middle of the floor so darn entertaining?
My mom walked up the stairs and said-- 'Well the bread is still perfectly fine! Imagine that, she didn't even touch it!' And... she picked it up, re-wrapped it, and put it in the pantry. Z and I looked at each other, and though we exchanged no words, I know we were thinking the same thing: "I'm not eating that bread." Because we cannot account for the whereabouts of the bread for the entire evening, or gaurantee the cleanliness of all surfaces (including a dog) the bread came into contact with that evening--
We kinda feel as though that loaf of bread has been compromised.