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new.
In November, I bought a dog.
Not a sports car.
A dog.
Savannah was furious only because she had predicted it.
The dog was a scruffy black-and-brown mutt with one white paw, suspicious eyebrows, and the general demeanor of an underpaid detective. The shelter said he was four years old and “slow to trust.”
Perfect.
I named him Walter.
Savannah hated the continue reading …
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