I tried to imagine it, but the situation Mom was describing sounded more like the middle of a story than the end. “Then how will we get out?” I asked.

“That’s not what it’s like on Dogstagram,” I said. “Dogstagram is like Black Twitter, but for dog issues. Mostly whether there’s equal opportunity in booping, whether or not to conjugate verbs, and if it’s really that dog’s birthday today.”

“What the smell is that woman saying?” Mom grumbled the umptieth time I heard it. “Wait, you can hear it too?”

He aimed his witch at the empty air between the potty and the next mountain. “Aren’t your pictures missing someone?”