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“The Lion Sleeps” by Frances Pauli
21st April 2020 • The Voice of Dog • Rob MacWolf and guests
00:00:00 00:18:24

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Today’s story is “The Lion Sleeps” by Friend-of-the-Fireplace Frances Pauli, author of the Serpentia series, and you can find more of her stories on francespauli.com

Read for you by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion — and stick around at the end of this episode for a little bonus, featuring Bullpup Rugger, Roland, Carrizo Kitfox and yours faithfully!

Transcripts

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You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.

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I’m Khaki, your faithful fireside companion,

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and today’s story is

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“The Lion Sleeps” by friend of the fireplace Frances Pauli,

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author of the Serpentia series,

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and you can find more of her stories on francespauli.com.

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And stick around at the end of this episode for a little bonus!

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“The Lion Sleeps”

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by Frances Pauli

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In the jungle, the concrete jungle.....

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Stanley flexed tawny knuckles and let the tips of his claws

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prick pinpoint holes in the leather-wrapped steering wheel.

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A horn blared somewhere inside the crowd of vehicles wedged together on the freeway.

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Smooth concrete retainers lifted at the edges of the lanes.

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Car after car squeezed in on either side.

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He stuffed a furred finger into his shirt collar

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and tugged the fabric away from his throat.

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Freed from the constriction of his work shirt,

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a yawn worked its way into his jaw,

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stretched his mouth wide.

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Stanley's pink tongue curled around it.

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His eyelids drooped.

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Up too late last night working on the Melbourne account.

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His mane still had mats in the back

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where he'd rushed to get ready this morning.

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Too much coffee and not enough sleep.

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Now, they rubbed the wrong way,

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made his fur twitch beneath the suit.

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The cuffs around his wrist became manacles,

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and the faces in the cars around him blurred.

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A gnu in a Volvo eased up on his right

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and spawned more angry honking from the cheetah chick

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who'd been trying to merge into the gap that was too small for either car.

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Stanley tightened his grip on the wheel,

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stippled the leather

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and let his eyes close

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and open. So much honking.

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He cracked his window,

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felt a cool rush

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and made the mistake of inhaling.

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A deep breath filled his lungs with exhaust fumes and pheromones.

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The presentation this morning would make or break his promotion,

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and he needed the raise.

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Car payments were killing him.

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Stanley brushed his paw guiltily over the holes he'd just put in the leather he didn't quite own yet.

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They'd moved less than half a mile in the last twenty minutes.

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Stanley glared at his dashboard clock,

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checked its accuracy against his watch.

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What were the odds he'd make it on time?

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His throat tightened again.

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Stanley tugged at his collar

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and closed his eyes.

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He'd snarled at Janine last night over dinner.

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Just so much pressure to get the presentation done,

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so little time to work at work. He'd skipped TV time with his cub, too,

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skipped curling up on the couch with little Stan

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and pretending to watch Power Pals.

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Junior's spots would fade soon.

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He wouldn't want to cuddle with his old man much longer.

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Stanley yawned and imagined watching tonight.

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He'd bring something nice home for Janine.

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He'd make time... Horns screaming.

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Stanley jumped up,

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but his shoulder belt pressed him back against the leather.

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Something knocked hard on his window.

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Tap, tap-tap-tap. He blinked

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and gaped at the empty space in the lane in front of his car.

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TAP. A tan fist thumped his driver side window.

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Another round of honking rattled Stanley's teeth.

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He lowered the window with one claw

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and tugged at his collar with the other paw.

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"Are you in distress?"

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A sleek ferret face leaned into the square frame of his window. Cop's

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hat, blue shirt,

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condescending expression. "Sir?"

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The horns howled now.

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Cars angled out behind him,

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eased past on the right while the cop's vehicle completely blocked the left-hand lane.

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"I'm... I was just." Too tired to be driving.

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Too sleep deprived and now definitely late for his presentation.

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"You need to move this vehicle."

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A wolf drove by on the right,

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flipped him a fuzzy grey middle finger,

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and showed off yellowed canines.

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Stanley's collar bit into his throat.

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His mane bunched and the stink of exhaust infiltrated his car.

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"Sir. Sir!" The cop's paws draped over his driver's door.

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His weasel voice pitched into a range that made Stanley's rear teeth grind.

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"You need to..." The roar pressed upward with enough force to snap off his top button.

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Stanley's jaw opened, stretched around his fury and let the sound free.

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His tongue curled.

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The windshield rattled,

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and the concrete jungle

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echoed with the full force of Stanley's frustration. #

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Near the skyscraper village....

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He smelled the coffee before the elevator doors opened.

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The office day had already begun,

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and when the silver panels parted, Stanley faced a grid of empty cubicles.

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Meeting already underway.

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He was late again.

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No time to crab a coffee.

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Stanley clutched the hard binder containing the Melbourne account under one stout arm and shuffled toward the meeting rooms at the opposite end of the office.

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The carpet hissed under his slick-soled shoes.

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The coffee aroma teased his nose,

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reminded him how many hours of sleep he'd missed.

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His tail drooped,

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brushed the ground.

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"Stanley!" Gerald's voice stalled his progress, stopped him ten paces from the meeting room.

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The plump woodchuck

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popped up from a nearby cubicle and waved.

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"Wait up." A growl lodged in Stanley's throat.

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He liked Gerald,

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and he'd be late either way.

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He waited, swished his tail,

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and clung to the report so tightly the edges of the binder bit into his armpit.

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The meeting room door opened.

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A blast of laughter escaped

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and then cut off sharply as it shut again.

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Gerald waddled out of his cubicle carrying a steaming, Styrofoam cup.

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God, Stanley needed some coffee.

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The woodchuck's mouth was moving, and he hadn't heard a word.

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He blinked, dragged his gaze away from the coffee

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and smiled an apology.

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"Rough morning?" Gerald's eyes dropped to Stanley's shirtfront,

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to the missing button

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and the gap that showed his golden pelt.

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"Got a ticket on the way in.

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in." He stepped toward the meeting and willed Gerald to hurry up and join him.

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The stout legs gave his co-worker a slow,

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trundling gait. "Speeding?"

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"Fell asleep on the 401.

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401." Stanley reached the meeting doorway,

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held it open and let the conversation inside wash out like a tide

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while Gerald caught up.

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"Again." "Damn gridlock.

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gridlock." Gerald smiled and ambled past.

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His fuzzy shoulder bumped the Melbourne account,

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nearly knocking it free of Stanley's grip.

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Coffee choking his nostrils.

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Chattering animals filling his ears.

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Stanley followed the woodchuck inside and sat in the last empty chair at the long table.

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His boss watched him from the far end,

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from beside the projection screen.

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Mr. Wattler's badger face pinched.

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His eyes turned beadier.

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His nose twitched only one direction,

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hanging there as if it had meant to swing back to the other side and forgot to

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at the sight of Stanley.

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"There you are." At the badger's words, the conversation snuffed out.

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All their muzzles swung in Stanley's direction.

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"It's nine after." No mention of Gerald's tardiness.

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No possibility of arguing his case either.

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Wattler's eyes glinted like polished horn.

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"I've got the Melbourne acc—"

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"We've pushed it back to Wednesday.

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Wednesday." Wattler brushed a paw through the fur on his

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chin. "Gonna listen to the Stedman deal today.

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today." All night hunched over his keyboard working.

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The pinpoint desk lamp burning into his peripheral vision while the screen's glow drove him half blind.

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Janine's voice had sounded

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far away, drifting past on her way down the hall to their room.

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Coming to bed? Stanley pried the Melbourne binder out from under his arm

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and laid it on the table in front of him.

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Had junior fallen asleep on the couch again?

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Did he watch too much TV?

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Twelve cups of coffee wafted the scent of morning in a haze around him,

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and Stanley tried to scratch at the memory of last night.

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What time had he finally gone to bed?

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"Lewis," Mr. Wattler called on a younger associate,

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a lynx with no family

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and a lot more to prove before Stanley would consider him a threat.

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Still, when the old badger gave the kid a tap on the arm,

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Stanley's teeth clicked together.

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Lewis had a binder under one arm,

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a big grin that showed too much fang, and a steaming Styrofoam cup

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in his free paw. The Stedman deal didn't have a tight deadline.

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It was a no brainer account,

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wouldn't have driven the lynx into a nightmare

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of late hours and loss of sleep.

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Stanley put his paws on his thighs.

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He used the tips of his claws against his suit pants to keep his eyes open

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while the kid spoke.

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The projection screen flickered.

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Someone shut off the lights to show the graphs better.

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Somewhere, somebody whispered his name.

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"Stanley?" Janine had been out like a light when he crawled into bed.

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She hadn't twitched when he nestled in beside her,

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and he'd been too tired to even reach for her.

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How long had it been since...

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"Stanley!" Wattler's voice threw ice along his spine,

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brought his head up with a snap and a ripple of dense mane.

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"I think we need to talk.

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talk." The meeting room had emptied while he slept.

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Every chair had been tucked,

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neat and straight,

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back against the table.

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The coffee had left with his coworkers, but Stanley could still smell the traces of it,

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a whiff of hope that died in the tapping

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of an old badger's shoe

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against the worn carpet.

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That sound scraped at Stanley's shoulders.

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The squinting of Wattler's eyes,

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the downward tilt

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of his striped nose.

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He sighed and his muzzle twitched sharply to one side only.

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Stanley's chest rumbled.

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His claws snagged in his trouser legs,

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and his mouth stretched and stretched.

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He roared, setting the curtains across the room dancing,

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and lighting a chill flame

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in Mr. Wattler's beady black eyes. #

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Hush my darling, don't roar...

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"You were fired?" Janine's eyes widened,

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flickered with fear before she could stifle it.

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"Oh Stanley. I'm sorry.

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It'll be fine. It will.

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will." Stanley stood in the foyer

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and stared past her.

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The kitchen remodel had cost him a month's salary,

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but now their tiles gleamed without a single scratch to mar the surface.

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The appliances shone in stainless steel.

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Expensive. Everything in his home cost more than they could afford now.

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"And I got another ticket.

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ticket." He hung his jacket on the peg beneath the entryway mirror

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and cringed at his own face.

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Mats in his mane.

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A missing button and eyes rimmed with purple.

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From the living room,

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the tinny siren of little Stan's fire truck squealed off key.

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Batteries dying. More things for him to buy.

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"Another ticket?" Janine wiped her paws on the apron tied over her designer skirt.

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Twin flour-white prints remained when she lifted them away.

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Her eyes flickered again.

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Anger. A lot more fear.

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She examined him from head to toe

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and her face darkened.

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"You're working too hard, Stanley."

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"Well." His fangs clicked together.

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"Now I'm not working at all.

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all." Janine's lips tightened.

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Her hands crossed over the front of the blouse he couldn't afford to replace if she got flour on it.

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She stared at him,

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tapped a foot once,

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twice on the parquet flooring.

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The toy siren wailed.

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Stanley's tail thumped against the walls.

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"I'm going to finish dinner.

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dinner." Janine spun on her heel

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and marched across the kitchen tiles.

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She had been asleep last night, hadn't she?

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What time had it been, when he dragged his sorry carcass into their bedroom?

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Stanley shuffled down the hallway to change.

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He threw his dirty laundry into a hamper that he didn't remember buying.

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Janine shopped while he was out.

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Janine collected things that he was supposed to be able to pay for.

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He growled and put on sweats and a t-shirt

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that tugged painfully at his mane.

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It smelled like roast in the hallway.

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Stanley's lip curled.

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They'd better get used to ground beef now.

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He kicked at the rubber ball junior had left outside his door,

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watched it bounce away,

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and cringed at each impact.

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Tap. tap-tap-tap. Stanley followed it to the living room

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where the screeching of his son's plaything

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tickled a ridge of hair to attention along his spine.

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TV on in the background.

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The smell of meat

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and the dying squeal

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of a toy siren. "Daddy!"

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His son leapt from the plush carpet, swinging the fire truck in one paw

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and bounding toward him.

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Stanley braced himself.

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He took the weight of his son against his belly,

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and the hard knock of the plastic truck against his chin.

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He staggered back,

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stumbled onto the rubber ball

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and flailed for balance.

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His son dropped, landing on his rear paws and cringing backwards.

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Stanley stepped on his own tail,

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pinching a nerve that went all the way up to his neck.

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The toy truck warbled, fading but continuing to sing on the way out.

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Junior sniffled, a juicy sound that he repeated three times in succession,

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each time louder than the last.

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The roar built in his chest,

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rumbled into his throat.

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Stanley opened his jaws, stared down at the wide eyes of his son,

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and swallowed before the sound could escape.

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He squatted, rocked back onto his heels

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and tilted his head to one side.

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"Son." "Yes, dad?" "Your spots are fading." "Uh

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-huh." Little Stan nodded proudly

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and pointed a stout finger at his hip.

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"This one's almost all gone!"

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Stanley blinked away a sudden pressure

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and nodded, rubbing his chin.

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"Your truck needs batteries, I'm afraid."

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"It's okay, dad. It sounds better like this.

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this." The cub swung the truck in an arc

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and howled in a fair mimicry of a siren's wail.

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This time, Stanley ducked in time.

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This time, Janine appeared in the doorway, smiling again.

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"Go wash for dinner, little one.

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one." Their cub scampered away,

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knocking his father on the knee as he passed

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and pushing between his mother's legs

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to get into the hallway.

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"He's growing so fast.

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fast." Stanley stood and tried to think of what to say to her.

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"We have some savings,"

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she said. "We'll be okay.

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okay." Stanley stared into her eyes,

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blinked, and nodded

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until his matted main danced. # "Weeee!"

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Little Stan squealed and whooshed down the long, metal slide.

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The attached swing set rocked back and forth

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as his son clambered back up the ladder.

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He should tighten the bolts before the day was out.

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Keep it safe. Stanley yawned

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and swished his long tail.

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The hammock rocked to one side

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and back with the motion.

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The trees over his head whispered,

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and his cub squealed and slid again.

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A great investment, that slide.

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Janine had dragged it home from a yard sale two weeks ago.

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It only took a coat of paint and a few bolts to bring it back to life.

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He'd tighten the screws again just to be safe.

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The sun filtering through the overhead leaves

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cast mottled patterns over his tawny fur,

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and Stanley rolled onto his side and watched his cub play.

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Their mobile home rested at the top of a short slope,

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surrounded by other trailers

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and a good thirty miles from the nearest freeway.

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A strip of shingles had worked free the last time they'd had wind.

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He'd have to tack them down before the weather turned.

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A used car parked in their driveway.

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It had a rusted panel on the rear driver's side door,

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but it ran like a mule

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and got him to work and back.

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Five perfectly measured overnight shifts.

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Forty hours a week doing security at the lumber yard.

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Walking the darkness

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and making sure everything stayed nice and quiet.

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Stanley poked a claw through the hole in his t-shirt.

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He scratched his belly fur absently.

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His favorite shirt.

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Comfy. A dollar at the thrift store in town

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and the previous owner had stretched the neck out beautifully.

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Lots of room to breathe in it.

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"Stanley?" Janine's voice drifted to him on the breeze.

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"Yeah?" Stanley rocked the hammock to the side,

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swung his legs over the netting

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and sat up facing his new home.

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His wife stood on the porch.

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Her dress stretched over her pregnant midriff,

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the skirts fluttered around her tawny legs.

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"The Johnston's want us to come for dinner.

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dinner." "Sure." Stanley nodded, smiled at the excited roaring of his cub.

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Little Stan and the crane kid next door had become fast friends.

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"What time?" "Tonight.

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I told them you'd want a nap first." "Awww.

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"Awww." Little Stan howled from the top of his slide.

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"Just need a minute to change,"

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Stanley said. He'd tighten the bolts before they left.

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Work on the roof sometime next week, maybe.

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"Are you sure?" Janine's eyes reflected the afternoon sunlight.

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She smiled, and their cub streaked down the slide

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and bounded happily across a lawn studded with dandelions.

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Stanley inhaled the soft,

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natural scent of his life

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and found he had no interest in napping.

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"Sure." He stretched his arms over his head

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and rumbled. "I'm not tired at all."

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This was “The Lion Sleeps”

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by friend of the fireplace

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Frances Pauli, read for you by Khaki,

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your faithful fireside companion.

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Thank you for listening to The Voice of Dog.

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And as promised, here’s a little bonus from your Friends Of The Fireplace,

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featuring Carrizo,

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Roland, Bullpup Rugger

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