A friend of mine had this dog. His name was Raven. He looked like a sort of big staffordshire terrier, a big solid slab of muscle. He was a good dog. He was the kind of dog who didn't just know when you were sad, he knew why. The kind of dog who would read a newspaper rather than pee on it. The kind of dog that did understand every word you said
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It's not a good week for dogs.
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Good night, Raven.
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