3:43 a.m.

As I write this (using my phone) at the above-mentioned time, junior auxiliary dog Nipper has just been returned to his crate. We were outside with liquid bowels at 11:30 and 2:00 (bonus return trip for pee at 2:30), and then at 3:20 I heard that unmistakable sound of a dog horking up the works, followed by a quick trip outside for more bowel fun.

You know how some guys have that reflex where changing a diaper or cleaning up vomit triggers their own vomit reflex? Yep, I am a card-carrying member. Had a close call.

Oh, I wish I could slyly note that hey, is this the true meaning of love? With a little humblebrag wink. But the truth is, there was no one else available to clean it up, and you can’t just leave vomit hanging around. It doesn’t evaporate.

He’s quiet now. His crate smells strongly of Clorox wipes, but he went in anyway. When I got sore at that pee trip—“We were just out!!!”—he looked up at me, the picture of forebearance, even though he’s obviously not well.

Maybe he’s the one who knows what love is.

Good night, little Nipper. Sleep well.

Update: Out again 5:12.