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Home: The Toast

The key is Sansa has to willingly want to leave. I can pack as many dog-proof suitcases as I want and bribe TSA security by saying I’m just bringing back a human-sized stuffed animal for my niece, but if Sansa doesn’t want to return with me to New York as my new best friend and main mode of transportation, it won’t work.

First, I endear myself to her. I will cloak myself in the scent of the airplane so that, upon my entrance, her little ears perk up and she thinks to herself “what is that enchanting, foreign smell?” It is me, dear Sansa. There may also be some errant cat hairs on my person, signaling her to the promise of other fuzzy friends if she returns with me at the end of the long weekend.

Nicole’s house is certainly larger than mine, and filed with more people who have already expressed their undying love for this dog queen. I will not let this deter me. My apartment is small but it has much to offer. There are at least two other dogs in my building, and a park at the end of my block where many other dogs gather and socialize. There is also an elevator, which I bet she will be very excited to ride. Our home is cozy but it will be a good home for her, if she will have me, which she absolutely will.

Many would stoop to cheap tricks, like hiding bacon one’s pockets, but I have too much respect for Sansa to believe she would fall for such foolery. No, I will meet Sansa as an equal. We share a love of showers and cheese. We both have squishy, soft faces and toe hair. Yes, I believe we will get along grandly, and by the end of my four days in Utah, she will see the beautiful life I can provide for her. Nicole will say “I understand”, pack us a bag of LaCroix and cheese curd, and fiercely hug us goodbye as we ride off together through the mountains. Life will be good.

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