The Unexpected Everything - Morgan Matson Page 0,68

of the box as I tried to describe the chocolate to her.

“It was dark chocolate,” I said, but even as I said this, I wondered if it was right. Had it been milk chocolate? I had been so focused on not tasting the hazelnut, I wasn’t entirely sure. “I think.”

“Milk or white would have been better,” she said. “But you’d have real trouble if it were baking chocolate. That’s the most dangerous. Dogs can’t process caffeine or theobromine like we can. I get this call a few times a week. Their systems just overload.”

“Okay,” Clark said, running back into the room, holding the pieces of the box in his hands. “It was . . . ten ounces. Dark chocolate.”

“And he ate all of it?” Ashley asked, her voice getting sharper.

“All but a few pieces,” Clark said, meeting my eye. “What does that mean?”

There was a tiny pause, and Ashley said, “I think you’ll be okay. But you’re going to need to get this out of his system. You’re going to need to get him to throw up—”

“Oh, he’s been doing quite a lot of that,” Clark said.

“That’s a good thing,” Ashley said. “He’s basically been poisoned, and he needs to clear it out.”

“So we don’t need to take him to a vet?” I asked, surprised. I’d assumed that the professionals were going to take over at some point. I hadn’t thought this was going to be left to us.

“You’re going to need to monitor him for the rest of the night,” she said. “If he starts seizing, you’ll have to bring him to a vet immediately. But otherwise, based on his weight, I don’t think he ate enough for this to be truly life-threatening.”

“Oh, thank god,” Clark murmured, sitting back and running a hand over his face.

“But you need to to get him to drink fluids so he doesn’t become dehydrated,” she said. “And keep watch on him tonight. If the shaking gets worse, bring him in.”

“Got it,” I said, looking over at Bertie. “Thank you.”

“Thanks a lot,” Clark said, leaning forward slightly to reach the phone. Ashley said good-bye, and a moment later, hung up. And then it was just me and Clark and the sudden silence that filled the room now that Ashley was no longer telling us what to do. “So,” Clark said, looking at the dog, then back at me. “Now what?”

• • •

Since it seemed like Bertie wanted to be in the laundry room, we got settled in there. Clark went to clean up the kitchen, and though I offered to help, I was secretly glad when he insisted on doing it himself. Not only was I not thrilled with the idea of cleaning up the mess in the kitchen, but after talking to Ashley, I really didn’t want to leave Bertie alone. While on one hand I was relieved that he didn’t seem to be in any serious, immediate danger, the fact that he had come so close to it was terrifying. As was the fact that Clark and I were the ones responsible for making sure he stayed out of it.

Bertie tried to kick the blanket off, and I took it off of him, running my hand over his back. I set it down just to the side of him, in case we needed to have it on hand. I was about to call to Clark, to see if he could bring out Bertie’s water dish, when my phone rang.

The caller ID read MAYA, and I picked up immediately. “Hi,” I said, beyond relieved to hear from her. Maybe she and Dave were on their way over, and they could take over the dog night watch. I knew neither of them were vets, but they had way more experience with dogs than Clark and I had combined.

“Hi!” Maya said, and I could hear she sounded like she did when she was trying to wrangle her pack of dogs away from an aggressive barker—stressed, but trying to hide it with cheerfulness. “I’m so glad you picked up. I just heard from Clark. It sounds like he’s having a problem with Bertie—”

“Yeah,” I said, cutting her off before she could tell me what I already knew. “He called me. I’m over there now.”

“Thank goodness.”

“Told you,” I heard another voice say—after a moment I realized it was Dave. I’d only met him once, when I had gone to their tiny office to drop off my tax and payroll forms. I’d expected the male version of Maya—tattoos,