Knock at the door, just now. Fancible Range Rover, without so much as a speck of mud in its heavy-tread tires, sitting in my driveway. I took Riley's collar in my hand and opened the door to find a somewhat roundish, friendly-looking, polite older man standing on my porch. Like his vehicle (and Paul's grandfather) he was very clean. His shirt
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It's funny because I can hear her thinking that. Hee.
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When I brought everything home, Riley saw the ball, started pawing at it, and after I told her no she sat there and whined at it for a solid twenty minutes before she realized we had a hamster. ALL BALLS BELONG TO RILEY.
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