A Bark in the Park
It was the beginning of everything.
After I’d completed my official patrol of the perimeter, which included barking at two suspicious leaves, marking three separate trees, and breaking up a shady-looking pigeon gathering, I permitted myself to play.
There were other dogs in the park. I knew them. Well, most of them.
Milo, the golden retriever, has no impulse control. Olive, the rescue mutt, always brought a squeaky toy and never shared it with anyone. And a rotating pack of doodle variations who never stopped moving and probably ran an underground treat exchange.
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