Joe was fading. The compound fracture of his left femur bled unabated.

Homey, Joe’s dog, saw everything. Joe was carrying two cases of beer up from the basement and lost his footing. Homey could see and smell the horrible protrusion of bone coming out of his master’s leg.

Joe knew he’d never make it to the phone upstairs. Joe feared he would die at the foot of the basement stairs.

Homey went to Joe and spoke, “I want to help you, but I’ve decided to trade up to the hot blonde with huge tits down the street. Sorry dude.”