The other morning Robert and I loaded up the dogs and set off on a breakfast adventure at a familiar haunt. It was too cold to sit outside so the girls stayed in the car. The whole time I was drinking my coffee and eating some grub it felt like I was being watched. Sure enough, when I turned around, there she was, my white-faced thug muffin, patiently staring daggers into the back that abandoned her for breakfast.
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