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“The Lion Sleeps” by Frances Pauli

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!

Transcript
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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

About the Podcast

Show artwork for The Voice of Dog
The Voice of Dog
Furry stories to warm the ol' cockles, read by Rob MacWolf and guests. If you have a story that would suit the show, you can get in touch with @VoiceOfDog@meow.social on Mastodon, @voiceofdog.bsky.social on Blue Sky, or @Theodwulf on Telegram.

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