“Twins,” she offered.
My eyes flicked up to hers quickly, embarrassed I’d been staring. “Sorry.” I blushed. “It’s just you’re so . . .” I stopped talking and zipped my lips together.
“Big? Huge? Massive? Beachball-like?” she asked, a smile on her face now. It was clear I hadn’t offended her.
I nodded. “Yes!” I matched her smile. “I mean, you really are.”
She nodded. “I know. And I’m only going to get bigger.” She rubbed her belly and looked down at it. That was hard to imagine. “So, the immobilizer,” she said, coming back to our previous conversation, “how big did you say it was?”
“Small. One of those small plastic things.” I demonstrated the size with my fingers.
She nodded. “Should be fine then. We’ll just have to wait for it to pass. I don’t feel any tenderness or swelling in the belly, he seems to be in no pain, so it’s just a waiting game for now.”
“What do you mean, waiting game?”
“Well, he should pass it naturally.”
“Pass it?” I looked at her and blinked. I think I knew what she was saying, but I needed it confirmed.
“With a bowel movement,” she added.
“Umm . . .” I stared down at the dog now, the picture starting to form in my mind. The fact he would need to crap out my car immobilizer. I cringed at the thought.
“It should take about twenty-four hours or so. Depending.”
“Depending on what?” I asked.
“Depending on the size of the bowel, how much is in the bowel, how long it takes for it to travel down the bowel.”
“When will you know when it happens? How long will you keep him?”
She smiled. “I’m not keeping him. He’s not sick. Besides, I don’t have any space for him.”
“Well, how am I meant to . . . you know. When he’s . . . you know.”
“Passed the immobilizer?”
“Yes.”
“I would recommend a sieve,” she said.
“A WHAT?”
“You can buy one at Jim’s Everyday Store. I’ll give you some gloves too—”
“WAIT! No!” I cut her off. “I am not sifting through Satan’s Little Helper’s poop! I am not doing that.”
“Satan’s little what?”
“Helper.”
She frowned at me.
“You know inThe Simpsonsthey have that ugly dog called Santa’s Little Helper?”
“No, not really,” she replied.
“Well, he reminded me of him, only he looks like he works for the guy with the other name that starts with an S—you know what I mean.” I looked down at the floor and her eyes followed me. “The guy downstairs,” I added.
