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To Which Ever Jerk It May Concern

Nothing will bring you out of blog hiatus faster than unsatisfied rage.

Today at lunch, I trekked home from work (as I do everyday) to walk my dog, Heidi. For the past 3 years, this is what we do: I go to work, she stays in my bathroom until lunch, I walk her to my neighbor’s for an afternoon play date, I pick her up after work, we lounge about watching bad TV until bed. Lather, rinse, and repeat.

Something different happened today. At my door, the following sign greeted me:

I Wish Your Yappy Mutt Would Die

Classy, right? I’m some what shocked because my neighbors are mostly young professionals and the majority own dogs, and I wouldn’t expect this kind of malice from any of them.    And who would wish death on this?

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