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Ghosts like toast

I would have thought the dogs would alert
To another presence in which to flirt
Nothing but silence as I left the room
No portent of dismay, nor omen of doom
All was right with my breakfast upon the desk
A simple warm up of the cuppa was my quick task
So upon return, it surprised me most
To make the discovery that ghosts like toast

I walk into the dining room to set my fresh cup o’joe on the table. Another glorious work-from-home day, of which I am one lucky chick to have, and I’m setting the scene for a productive morning.
A cup of my very own special-brewed version of Cowboy Coffee, a slice of peanut butter toast and a peaceful aura emanating from the still sleeping dogs. Gonna be a good day, Scooter.
Well, I pass by two sleeping dogs. Jager is at the table and does a quick spin around when I return. He is obviously going through great effort to appear casual. If dogs could whistle, he’d be puckered up.
Um, I say. What’s going on?

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