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May 6, 2005
I apologize to the bloodhound for them making her come out in this nasty weather. I smooth the fur littered with ice crystals, the wet hair becoming shiny as chocolate cake frosting. Her sad, brown eyes express her appreciation for the attention; she even lets me touch her face. Holding her head, it's as big as a mailbox, the flews cold as slices of meat market liver. I whisper in her floppy ear that it is time for her to go. A quick stab to the jugular and I gently roll her in to the straw where she found me.