“Golden Retriever.”
There was a glug . A deep, mournful sound from the bowels of the earth. Then a whoosh . dog poop clogged toilet
The floor became a Jackson Pollock of seasonal gourds and regret. “Golden Retriever
Panic set in. Mark texted his buddy, a plumber, at 2:15 AM: “Help. Toilet clogged. It’s… biological.” but a low
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.
Not a clog from a toy or a “flushable” wipe. A dog poop clog.