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The Upper Paw

by Jonathan Hill
Originally published by on 19/05/2013

Douglas sat upright at the table, a napkin around his neck. He tucked into his bone while reading The Guard-dog-ian. In the corner, a naked Peter knelt, nuzzling his face into his cornflakes, which Douglas had poured into a bowl labelled 'HUMAN'. The TV weatherdog predicted a fine day, so Douglas stood up and woofed to his pet. Peter licked his bowl and crawled to the front door, where he waited for Douglas to put on his lead. Half way down the path, Peter squeezed out a turd onto the flower beds he had proudly tended just a week earlier.

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