Panic set in. Mark texted his buddy, a plumber, at 2:15 AM: “Help. Toilet clogged. It’s… biological.”
Mark collapsed onto the bathroom floor, victorious. Gus padded over and licked his face, his breath still faintly smelling of cinnamon. dog poop clogged toilet
Gus wagged his tail. He’d already forgotten the crime. But Mark knew the truth: Somewhere in the plumbing code of that apartment building, there was a legend. And every plumber who ever snaked that line would whisper the same question: “Was it pumpkin?” Panic set in
He tried a wire hanger. He fished blindly, hoping to break up the suspected “Gus-tastrophe.” The hanger emerged clean, which was somehow more terrifying. dog poop clogged toilet
Gus dared.