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58 Half-breed Throw a Frisbee and all day I’ll bark after it, paws churning up dirt, lungs pumping, tail swagging, as I loft and glide and snatch the plastic disc of approval, but I will not lie at your feet, even when petted, even when you work your fingers through my freshly groomed fur. Look deeper, and you’ll find evidence of my mangy roots. Look between my teeth and see slithers of skin from the hand that fed me. Half purebred, half bitch. How they tied me out in the rain all night, sculpting a howl, dodging apples hurled from cars. ...

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