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Get Your Own

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“So I says to Mabel ‘that’s my bowl, baby!’”

Laughter fills the room, along with the smell of old dog food, drooled over bones and cheap cigarette smoke. Someone shuffles the cards again. Lucky takes a puff off of his cigar and bets two chips that Pongo will fold by the next paw.

“You ever gonna make an honest bitch of her?” Rover asks Chip.

“You kidding me? If she sticks to her own bowl I’ll mate with her til the cows come home!”

They laugh together, and someone shuffles the cards and deals out yet another paw of cards.