Panic set in. Mark texted his buddy, a plumber, at 2:15 AM: “Help. Toilet clogged. It’s… biological.”
The first sign of trouble was the smell. Not the usual, polite dog fart that Gus would blame on the sofa cushions, but a low, sulfurous rumble that made Mark’s eyes water. Gus looked up from his bed with the guilty expression of a creature who had just seen God and disappointed Him. dog poop clogged toilet
“No,” Mark whispered. “Don’t you dare.” Panic set in
Mark boiled a pot of water. He stood on the toilet seat (for leverage, he told himself) and poured the steaming water into the bowl like a priest performing an exorcism. It’s… biological
Mark collapsed onto the bathroom floor, victorious. Gus padded over and licked his face, his breath still faintly smelling of cinnamon.
There was a glug . A deep, mournful sound from the bowels of the earth. Then a whoosh .
The water vanished. The toilet gave a satisfied gurgle . And somewhere in the sewer line, Gus’s creation began its long, slow journey toward the ocean.