Dog sick

The steam from the open shower door, billows like smoke into the room. “The dog puked in his crate, twice” she said. “One in one corner and one in the other. “He looked so sad” she sad. The water dripping from her auburn hair, spotting the bath mat. “I put him outside. He puked again. Watery this time. Tried to go poop. Poor dog, he tried and tried but couldn’t do it. I don’t think he liked me watching him.””Oh, okay, yeah, I’ll ah, I’ll take him to vet tomorrow morning.” He said. Still in his boxers. Hoping for a quick piss then half hour more sleep in, it was Sunday morning after all. “He managed to poop it out last time” he said, the sock in a zip lock bag, some of it still pink, held up by the vet , as exhibit A when he picked him up last time. “What?” The vet had said “you are not putting it back into rotation? “He can’t keep doing this” she said, He won’t make it” and shut the door. The steam trapped inside, swirled against the glass walls, desperately searching for a way out. He lifted the toilet seat, looked out the open window, cold air seeping in, the dog lay in the backyard, sheer black smear on the hard snow, without light, without shine, a shadow, a hole in the ground.