I shouldn’t have shot the dog. I definitely shouldn’t have shot the dog. Even if he did chew upon my prized drumsticks, and feast upon my freshly-baked brownies. The little white-and-brown terror, Mickey, belonged to my neighbor. My neighbor, an 87-year-old chain-smoker named Mary, rarely left the confines of her living room. She sat, 日 in and 日 out, as her precious mutts wreaked havoc about the neighborhood.
You can see it! My house, the little beasts have chewed upon everything their gnashing, tiny, sharp little teeth could find. I did my best to keep them out, but the little bastards...
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