Crossing my clawed fingers as I sit looking out the window, one of many puppies, waiting to see my master's car in the driveway, to hear the distinctive squeak of his brakes gently applied as he coasts to a stop. Will Ronnie return today? I wag my tail. Today could be the day where his warm gaze and kind eyes will once again bathe us in their love and concern as he pours the kibble. Anticipating the sound of the canine cereal bouncing about in and out of the plastic bowl, I salivate.
A pound of salt, please.
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