Two Idiots | Teen Ink

Two Idiots

January 2, 2021
By weatherman, Franklin, New Hampshire
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weatherman, Franklin, New Hampshire
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The fragrance of fuel and paint bother my nose. The yellow light shines directly at me, nearly blinding me. My feet begin to burn from remaining on a concrete floor colder than liquid nitrogen. Its deep cracks make sharp edges that scratch my feet. My slender, delicate forearms ache from violently rubbing my body to create friction for heat.  I've been remaining here for a long time. Perhaps focusing my time to look for Toby's fluffy, neon green tennis ball, which is covered in appalling drool, was an error. My back is in torment from bending over for so long. Ravaging through a plastic, indigo barrel grew to be a mistake.

I could keep exploring where the ball went, but my laziness impacts my choice to quit looking. Plus, I'm turning into ice down here. Bringing my puffy jacket that shared a similar color to celery would've been intelligent. Instead, I had the feeling that wearing a white shirt, which is so thin it exposes my stiff nipples, a pair of tight, black ankle socks, and turquoise basketball shorts that keep sagging down to reveal my checkered boxers is suitable clothing for my basement. An area where fiberglass that has a comparable appearance to pink cotton candy insulates the space to keep it chill. Also, it's late November. A time when the average temperature of New Hampshire goes down even further. Nature changes her paint from the glamorous shades of ruby, gold, and orange sapphire, to the glistening shades of white pearls and blue topaz. Fragile snowflakes float to the ground. Frost develops on the meager strands of emerald grass. Add those two factors together, and my basement has the atmosphere of a tundra.

Then again, it never occurred to me that looking for a ball with distinctive colors would end up being difficult. At least I found a ball that would be appropriate for my present circumstance. A yellow dimpled ball that is the size of a dollar coin and gentler than sponge cake. I discovered it when I opened a transparent, plastic drawer. I was reluctant to snatch it from the drawer, as right near the ball was a mason jar that had a dead frog inside. It had been in there for such a long time that even the maggots kicked the bucket from the absence of air. Shockingly, the glass container, acting like Pandora's box, has done an impressive showing in keeping a potential, risky smell from being released. 

I begin to think, is the ball too small for Toby? Will he not, unintentionally swallow it? No Alan! Don’t start becoming skeptical. You’ve been here for too long this ball is without a doubt the ideal size for him! 

I proceed onward, cautiously watching where I step so to maintain a distance from the webs with unpleasant spiders crawling. In a moment, I arrive at the wooden steps that lead up to my kitchen. A liberating sensation welcomes my feet. At last, a warm, agreeable surface. The burning sensation from the cold floor is no more. 

I fold my hand over the smooth, wooden rail. I use it to help my pathetic legs up the lofty steps. Each step I take makes a loud blast that can be heard miles away. Finally, I arrive at the highest point of the steps. My left shoulder throbs from carrying the majority of my body weight, while my quadriceps and hamstrings feel a slight feeling of torment. Before me is a plain white entryway with four cut boards on it, which leads to the kitchen. I twist the gleaming, alloy door handle that is smeared in grease marks.

Out of nowhere, I have the urge to eat. A brilliant smell of baked chocolate welcomes my nose. The smell appears to start from a square, glass dish that is covered in tinfoil. The tinfoil has a few wrinkles and mirrors light. My stomach starts to snarl like an aggressive mother dog protecting her puppies. My hand feels the extraordinary vibration in my abdominal region. The fragrance entrances me. I can't repel its incredible luring smell. I nearly slip on the chocolate-shaded, wooden floors, but I'm able to catch my balance.

At last, I arrive at the white, spotted, quartz counter to where the glass dish sits on. My excitement from the fragrance makes me thoughtlessly crumple the tinfoil and throw it to the side. At that point, I lick my lips. Brownies are before me. The distinct, broken top that looks like dissolved caramel. Its smooth, level, wonderful edges, and chocolate chips that jump out make my mouth water. I grab a metal blade and cut a square piece off. My movement coordinates the speed of light. Then, I stuff it in my mouth. The experience isn't disappointing. My tongue starts to groove to the gooey thick texture and chocolaty taste. I truly adore this baked good! 

Then, Toby, my brilliant retriever who's consistently up for food, is alerted by his floppy, brownish ears, of the sound of a blade scratching against glass. He yawns loudly and stretches  his body. I tune in to the clicking sound of my canine's nails conflicting with the floor. Then, I look to one side. My eyes are met with a cold stare from Toby's warm, hazel eyes.  His slimy, pink tongue that gives overwhelming kisses is hanging from his mouth. He yearns for food.

“Toby, when you’re dying, I’ll grant you as much chocolate as you desire. However, you're not dying. So, don’t you dare bark! ” I commanded.

Surprisingly, as opposed to constantly barking, which is the thing that he typically does, Toby just sets down. Maybe he's drained. All things considered, it is night time, only darkness and a shining white pearl drifting in the sky outside. 

When I ate up my divine brownie, I dug deep into my enormous pocket, where the ball I had found is kept. When the yellow ball is brought out by me, Toby inclines his head up and immediately sits up. His tail sways side to side, tidying the dusty floor like a broom. Any item that is shaped like a sphere makes his desire to play through the roof.

This is the reason I chose to experience torment. It was to discover a ball that Toby and I could use for our game in the kitchen. By what method can you not play with erratic, rowdy Toby? His magnificent golden hair that is on par with the elegant hair of Rapunzel, his adorable wet jet black, snout with visible, thick strands of white hair, and his set of pointy, pearly white teeth that appears similar to thirty white horse standing on a hill, make him irresistible!  

Proceeding onward, the rules of our game are basic. I keep Toby from grabbing the ball while he endeavors to get through my defense. At that point, when he contains the ball, it goes the other way around. For the most part, I dominate in this game. However, there are times when he surpasses me or is successful in a battle of wits. It's such an engaging, harmless game! Nothing goes wrong! 

I begin to get into position by bending my knees and straightening my arm to prepare for the drop of the yellow ball. My right hand is no longer clenched, and the ball falls down. It ricochets off the floor, and thus the game begins.

Toby opens his mouth to grab it mid bounce, yet I pin him against a wall with my pointy knee, pushing on. He retaliates by pushing his weight against my knee. In the end, his technique demonstrates effectiveness as my knee turns weak and can no longer push back. Toby's sharp nails consistently scratch the floor as he runs to the moving yellow ball. He edges nearer. His eyes are engaged to the maximum, and his mouth opens wide. Toby is determined to scoop up the ball. However, I use the advantage of my lengthy legs by taking two steps, which covers enormous distance.  Nonetheless, he's amazingly close, and there's no possibility I'll arrive at the ball from here. Utilizing my sharp brain, I somewhat lift my left leg, angling it, so I can hit the ball. The ball goes past the kitchen into the dining area where a transparent glass table and four seats spray-painted with fake silver sit. 

Quickly, I fold my arms over Toby's neck, feeling gentler fur than a sheep's fur, pushing him behind me, making Toby slip and fall on his side, causing a loud thud. In any case, he's quick on his feet and moves upright away. However, it doesn't make a difference as the separation is extraordinary between us. Unless Toby is the reincarnation of Air Bud, he has no chance of catching up. 

Investigating the dining area, I attempt to notice the location of the ball. Fortunately, it just takes one moment to sort out where the yellow ball is. Cowering behind the glass table while remaining on a tan, metal vent cover is the ball. Behind the ball is a transparent, glass, sliding entryway, which has a tint of blue. It leads to our lawn, which is as of now shrouded in a thick cover of white, feathered precious flakes.  I close in on the yellow ball and grab it from the messy floor before Toby can. Satisfaction spreads everywhere on my body. I raise both my arms in the air.

“Yes! I won!” I yelled in an excited manner.

Toby finally catches up to me. His senses recognize the yellow ball is inside my clenched hand. In a poor attempt, he stands on his rear legs and latches his paws onto my thigh. He attempts to get the yellow ball from my clenched hand. However, his mouth can only reach my hips. After a brief moment, Toby gives up.

“Alan,” my mother said in a weak, raspy voice.

Alarmed by my mom's voice, I pivot to see where she is. She has been in the living room, slumping on the couch, seeming like a blob of jelly. Her actual appearance took after that of a mental patient in an asylum. Dark purplish bags underneath her eyes cause it to appear as though she was struck in the face. Her disorderly, dark hair takes after a thorny hairbrush, and her gray, loose sweatshirt made her look morbidly obese.

Gradually, I move toward her, with Toby following. At that point, I end my movement, taking into account that a wooden gate, going about as a boundary to Toby, is in my way. Recognizing my laziness and the fact that going over the gate will take too much effort, I don't proceed onward.

My mom gazes at her phone, with her profound, bloodshot, earthy colored eyes reflecting the screen. She holds it at a close distance, acting as though she required glasses. In her other hand, she conveys a plain, splendid orange porcelain cup. Phenomenally, the intense smell of black coffee reaches from where I stand.  Also, the wide, curved, slick TV exhibits WMUR anchors informing what the weather will be like in the next few days. A massive amount of snow is expected.

“Vi que estabas jugando con esa pelota. No hagas eso porque Toby se lo comerá,” my mother warned. 

“Ok,” I grumbled. 

Unbelievable! In spite of the fact that moms are incredible, they aren't perfect.   They always seem to intrude on your fun by warning you of nothing. Toby won't eat the ball! Is it accurate to say that my mom is crazy?

Troubled by her warning, I distract myself by gazing at the ball. Then, a question springs. How high can this ball bounce?   I move my arm up to my head and then flick my wrist to let the ball fall at high speed. Anticipating that the ball should bob up, I position my hands. However, in an unexpecting result, instead of the ball bouncing straight up, it bounced off my right foot, making it take off at light speed to the kitchen. Suddenly, I feel hair hauling over my shins.

It’s Toby. He’s been stalking my fist like it’s his prey the entire time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Indeed, it is my awful coordination that had lent him the perfect opportunity.  Now, he’s caught it at the end of the kitchen, where the enormous, slick, silver fridge towers above him. The ball is all his. It’s time for him to drown it in his filthy saliva. 

It appears that my mom was mixed up. As I'm slowly strolling to Toby, nothing is by all accounts strange. Aside from… is that the sound of chewing? Who is that? Wait a minute.

“Toby?” I inquired in an anxious tone.

Toby, who is as of now confronting the other way, somewhat turns his head towards me, which is all the information I require knowing. I start to go into panic mode. Toby is as of now chewing on the yellow ball. 

“Spit that out you idiot!” I whispered with a harsh voice.

 What do I do! Toby must have believed that since the ball is soft, it's edible. Despite the fact that I do comprehend why he needs to devour the ball, as I myself was enticed to bite it, it's still terrible. I'm mindful of the risks of eating a foam ball while he's not. Besides, when Toby starts to overwhelmingly chew on something, it goes into a black hole, known as his stomach. 

In a rushing manner, I go to Toby’s side, kneeling on the hard floor. I begin to act like wrapping paper, locking Toby with my arms. “Give it back man! You're supposed to play with it! Don't eat it!” When my arms set a hold on him, I powerfully drag him to a position I'm comfortable in. At that point, my hands swim through his thick fur coat, going close to his mouth. Reluctantly, I use my lean fingers to lift his serrated, wet lips. “Spit it out! Let me in that mouth, you useless pet!” I feel warm saliva, smooth pink gums, and rough teeth. It makes me pull a face of disgust. At that point, a fight results, my arm strength against his jaw strength. Is it possible for me to open his intimidating mouth?

Eventually, my fingers notice a small gap. Something I quickly take advantage of. I squeeze my fingers through the small opening and forcefully open his jaw. The tips of my fingers feel as if they are being pricked by tacks. The bumpy surface in his hard palate gives me chills.  Reluctantly, I reach in his mouth, trying to snatch the ball. It feels like shoving my hand in a jar of warm mayonnaise. His squirming, enormous tongue creates a difficult time for me. Nevertheless, my attempt is successful. Well, partly successful.

“Yes! That was a close one! Wait a minute?” Taking a gander at my hand that is concealed in spit, it occurs to me that I just hold a small chunk of the ball. At that point, my hearing sets in, the sound of chewing is still present. A realization hits me. After all that excruciating effort, Toby still has the ball.

“No Toby!” I swoop my hand back into his mouth. Suddenly, Toby’s dangerous primal instincts kick in. Nothing matters anymore other than consuming the squishy ball he’s captivated by. His aggressive behavior is shown once he begins to gnaw on my fingers. I feel a quick sensation of pain and bring out my hand. However, it is a mistake. I should have retaliated as opposed to  retreating. His mouth is no longer chewing. I cover my mouth, my eyes widen, and my jaw drops. Toby has inhaled the ball. 

    What have I done! How can I be such an idiot!  Calm down Alan. Like everything he puts in will eventually come out. Toby will excrete disgusting feces, and I’ll ravage through them. Then, I’ll definitely spot the yellow ball. Nothing terrible will occur. Everything is alright.

Everything is not alright! Throughout the previous two days, he’s been puking grotesque piles of vomit. It takes place twenty minutes after he eats his dog food. He hasn’t even passed down the ball! I don’t even think he can! This means the ball is disrupting his digestive system. Oh, no! All this terrible thinking is causing me to overwhelmingly bite my nails and walk back and forth across my room.  

Goodness my. What is this funky taste? It must be the grit that was under my nails. It's somehow delicious. Stop distracting yourself! Stay focused Alan, what’s the plan of action here?

You’re going to be a murder. That’s a pill hard to swallow. However, no one can pin the murder on me as there is no evidence! Well, imagine a scenario in which they do an autopsy on Toby and find the yellow ball. My mother is guaranteed to connect the pieces as she witnessed me with the ball. Maybe I’ll have to bribe her. Yes, that’s it! I’ll bribe my mother. It sounds awful, but drastic measures must be taken. There’s no way I’ll be charged for animal cruelty, not a single chance!

Yet, the feeling of emptiness and guilt for being responsible for the demise of a youthful, cute, innocent animal will put too much on my mental health. I mean, if Toby somehow happened to die from a circumstance I was unable to do anything, such as getting mauled by a black bear or flattened by a truck, it wouldn’t trouble me as much. However, that isn’t the case. It is my doing that is causing Toby a slow, painful death. Oh my, too much stress is straining my heart. Perhaps food shall deplete my stress. 

I proceed to get out of my room to go down the first floor of my home. My feet tickle as they drag across the coco-colored, polyester carpet. At that point, when I arrive at the top of my stairs, I grasp the polished, smooth wooden railing. My hand glides down the railing while I make uproarious echoes with each step. Finally, my feet transition to a hard wooden floor. 

Before I proceed to the kitchen, which is down a hallway to my right, I peek out of a narrow, rectangular window that is a part of the main entrance of my house. My chin presses against the freezing window, numbing it in the process. My hot breath creates fog on the glass.  The bright lights outside my house highlight my parents and brother, who are struggling against nature’s forces at night. They’re decked out in heavy winter clothes to shield themselves from the frigid temperatures, dancing exotic, icy crystals that are falling at a high rate, and ground-breaking winds that can catch you off balance. 

Their reasoning behind going outside is to shovel the impressive amount of snow covering our driveway. The reason I’m not out there assisting them is owing to the fact I convinced my parents by overstating the amount of work I need to do in two days. In reality, it’s only three sheets of math homework that I could complete in an hour. Plus, anything that involves winter climate turns me into a fragile, old man that complains about the cold. It’s something I do not fancy. Then again, at least winter isn’t as dreadful as fall. I genuinely hate fall. 

Moving onward, I unstick my face from the window and advance to the kitchen. As I enter, I notice Toby leaning against the fridge. I quickly look away. It brings sadness to me, knowing he isn’t aware that he’s on the brink of death. Thoughts of self-hatred move through my mind. How can I be such an idiot? Is your brain smooth? Who can do such a thing to an adorable dog?

Yet, the thoughts fade away in a matter of seconds. Laying in a wire fruit basket, a clustered bunch of bananas catch my eyes with their magnificent, sunny skins and brown specks. Their unique smell casts a spell on me to progress towards them. In a flash, I shorten the distance between me and the bananas. A part of my stomach fat is flattened by the edge of the counter. Though, when I examine the fruit bowl, it surprises me that I should settle on a decision. Hiding beneath the bananas is a singular, yellow-green pear. Even so, the pear doesn't make the slightest of a change to my original decision. Pears are, in a real sense, the most sickening fruit. They taste like cardboard doused with sugar. The sight of eating a pear makes me nauseous. Bananas, on the other hand, are simply divine! In the event, if I were to ever witness a person choosing a pear over a banana, I will immediately chop their tongue off, as they do not deserve one. 

Without hesitation, I curl my fingers around the smooth, curved fruit. Then, I tear it from the bunch. It creates a comparative noise to a sheet of fabric ripping apart. I gradually strip its skin, exposing the pale fruit inside. Awed by its magnificence, I waste no more time and bite off an enormous chunk, savoring its slimy texture and particular sweet flavor.

Instead of facing the wall, which feels abnormal, I turn around. However, turning around made me instantly jump from fear. Toby is in front of me. I didn’t hear the sound of his footsteps. 

“My god! Maybe a little warning next time. You nearly gave me a heart attack!” I snapped.

Then, I noticed something peculiar going on with Toby. He doesn't seem to have a reaction to the sound of my voice. Normally his tail would begin to wag, but this time his face is strange. His eyes are wide, his ears are positioned higher than usual, thick, slobber dribbles down from the edges of his mouth, and his bottom teeth are biting his upper lip. 

What are you even doing? What’s up with you? You look psychotic-” Suddenly, Toby leaps up in the air and bites down on half of my banana and index finger. I feel extraordinary pain from his teeth that are as sharp as nails, tearing through my skin. “Ahhhhhhhhh! You mother- I hate you! I’m going to send you to the pound!” I grind my teeth together, my eyes begin to water, and my face goes red.

It doesn't stop there. The situation becomes worse. The banana Toby brought down is currently being eaten by him. Even if I’m still in agony from the bite, I try to drive him away with my foot against his neck. Yet, his love for food appears to grant him brute strength. He miraculously overpowers me and reaches the banana. Wait, he’s eating the peel! He’s not eating the banana. He’s chewing on the peel! The part you're not supposed to eat!

“Stop it! Don’t do that! Why are you eating the peel! The tastier part is right next to you!” Toby continues to ignore my aggressive yelling and my foot going through his neck. Then, I can no longer hear the noises of loud vigorous chewing as his body relaxes and is not pushing back. Coming with realization, Toby ate the banana peel. 

Before I can process my thoughts, Toby enacts to consume the banana. Luckily, my quick reflexes assist me in snatching the curved fruit off the ground.  It is at that moment where I understand my index finger is covered in blood. I’m reminded of Toby’s agonizing bite. Quickly, I rush to the sliding door that is the passage to my backyard. I secure a hold on the handle and lean against the entryway to open it. Once it opens, frigid air blasts into my face.  Nevertheless, I ignore the air that brings chills to my spine. Instead, I crouch and bury my hand beneath the soft heap of cold powder. Relief washes all over me. The pain lingers no more. 

Be that as it may,  my physical pain may be gone, but my emotional pain is still relevant. Toby ate a foam ball and banana peel! Now it's guaranteed he dies. For what reason do I make the worst decisions? This is getting deep in my head. I'm beginning to tear up. 

Out of the blue, I start to hear noises of choking and coughing. I pull out my frigid, numb, red hand that can barely move, out of the pile of snow. My knees crack as I get up. Slowly, I walk to the odd noise. Finally, I’m able to understand that the choking and coughing is originating from Toby.  I hurry to his side, but  something occurs that causes me to back away.

Toby begins to have a surge of brown, thick, liquid substance come out of his mouth. It's like a waterfall of chunky applesauce, a disgusting yet magnificent sight. Then something huge, something long, spews out of his mouth. It's the banana peel that Toby devoured. Disgustingly, it is now brown rather than yellow. I gag from seeing the creeping puddle of vomit bring an aroma of spoiled banana. Thankfully, Toby doesn't seem to have any more vomit come his way. 

In the wake of letting out arguably the biggest pile of vomit, Toby licks off the few drops of vomit on his lips. At that point, he gradually tilts his head up and stares at me. I take a gander at him and afterward look down at the nauseating vomit.

There is no way I’m picking that up. Rather, my parents can tidy that up, and I’ll act like I wasn’t there. Then again, they will question why a banana peel is on the floor. Possibly, I will assure them that he likely leaped up and was surprisingly capable of dragging down the banana to the floor. They’ll surely believe that!

Suddenly, my eyes catch sight of a spherical object in the vomit. What is it? Could it be? No, how can that be possible? I walk to the puddle, treading carefully as I hope to prevent brown sludge from soaking my socks. When I reach the edge of Toby's vomit,  I stop and slightly lean forward. Then, I spot it. I detect the missing piece of the ball. No longer am I nervous, now I’m satisfied. The yellow, I mean turquoise...wait, why is it turquoise? Did he eat another ball? No, obviously not! That's certainly the original yellow ball he swallowed. I’m speculating a strange event in his organs made the ball have a turquoise tone to it. 

I'm able to piece the situation together. The yellow banana saved him! I saved him! The peel must have been stuck in a position in his throat where it fired up his reflex system. Furthermore, the peel wrapped itself around the ball and pulled it out when Toby vomited. Yes! He’s saved! I clench my fist and raise it in the air. Then I slowly bring it down. From the looks of it, I won’t be a dog murderer!

Wait! I mustn’t get my hopes high as I don't know whether Toby’s body has returned to its normal function. It must be crucial for me to stand by and study him for the next couple of days in order to decide if he’s in good condition or not. Also, my parents seem to be coming at any moment, and I plan to not be caught in the scene as I will be forced to clean the mess. I spring back upstairs to my room and jump on my bouncy, spring bed, and lay my enormous head on a plush pillow. 

 Minutes later, I hear my dad yell my name, “Alan!”  

 I knew this was coming, but I’m still irritated that I need to hop off this bed that feels like a cloud. I walk in a drowsy manner to the sound of my dad’s voice. Finally, I see my dad standing at the bottom of my stairs. He is grasping a plastic shopping bag with several crumpled paper towels in it, and he is wearing clear, plastic gloves. He must have recently wiped the vomit off the floor. 

I begin to worry. When my dad is standing there waiting, it doesn’t mean uplifting news. My heart begins to race as I begin to trek down the stairs, anticipating the worst. Once I get halfway down the stairs, my dad gazes upward. His glasses mirror the bright light above him.

“What are you doing, son?” My dad asked. He gives me an emotionless stare. I’m already beginning to get nervous.

 “Umm, homework,” I replied. Acting as if I just wasn’t lying on my bed relaxing.

“I’m wondering, did you notice Toby vomited?” My dad lifts the plastic bag filled with paper towels that are soaked in vomit.

“Oh, no! I had no idea!  That is terrible, just terrible!” That’s it Alan! Keep acting like an oblivious child. Convince him into thinking you were in your room doing work.

“Of course! It was a huge pile. Although you did say you had no idea, I begin to wonder, why is there a banana peel? You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?” He questioned with an intimidating tone.

“Well, dad, Toby is beginning to mature into a strong alpha dog. He’s getting bigger. Plus, to be fair, you do place the fruit bowl too close to the edge.” That was too defensive! My dad begins to squint his eyes and gives me a suspicious look.


 “Alright. Then again, I also noticed a ball in the vomit, and your mother pointed out it looked similar to the one you were using with Toby around two days ago. Care to explain?” What is this, an interrogation? Why is he asking so many questions? All of a sudden, it feels hot in here. My armpits produce gallons of sweat, and my legs shake from fear. Quick Alan, say something,

“I wouldn't be so sure with confining in mom, considering she’s had a past of having hazy memories. I mean, at times, she forgets she has a son that needs to be picked up at school.” That was the worst possible thing I could’ve said! It’s so tempting to cringe, but I must keep a straight face.

“So the ball and the banana had nothing to do with you?” 

“Yes, I had nothing do with it.”

“Are you sure? I really hope you aren’t lying. Because you know what happens if you're lying.”

Oh no, I’m beginning to pass out. No! Come on, you can do it. I straighten my back, raise my shoulders, puff my chest up, and give my dad a fierce stare to show him confidence, “Dad, I’m not lying.”

“Alright, I believe you.”

He doesn’t believe me. It’s self-evident. I was always aware that he knew. My mom obviously filled him in with what she knew, and together they figured out why Toby had been puking after every meal. My dad just came to talk to me to see if his son is an honest child. Unsurprisingly, I’m not. I acted like I was tricking him, but deep inside, I knew all along. Plus, I didn’t have the courage to state I was the reason our dog nearly died. It just doesn’t sit well with me. However, I'm not generally worried about my father sorting out that I'm a liar. Realizing that the ball is out and Toby is probably not going to starve to death gives me a tremendous amount of relief.

 In the coming days, there has not been a single sight of Toby vomiting after a meal. Additionally, he’s had his fair share of grotesque feces.  Thankfully this ended with a satisfying ending, not a depressing one. What a roller coaster of emotions. Perhaps I should start tuning in to my mother, maybe I should start wearing pants, I should be more careful around foolish pets, maybe I should dwindle down on the mindless decisions, and maybe I should start being honest. Actually, scratch that last part. What good has honesty ever done to a person? Everyone understands that lying is more efficient. 

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