Fleegle is curled up on the den couch. “I don’t feel so good.”

“For a chocolate dog, you look mighty green. Is that grass stuck in your front teeth?” I pull it out for him. “So much for your duck treats, eh? Did you throw up?”

He nods. “By the back gate near the garbage cans.”

“Poor dog.”

“And in the flower beds.”

“Poor flowers.”

“And in your shoes by the bed.”

“Poor Raud.”