My aunt had a golden retriever, the sort of dog you want to hug until the world feels right again. He loved the sea-air, the feeling of shifting sands below his paws. I guess, as with all things that are alive, he was a sort of poetry I took into my soul.
Upon the beach, with a sand encrusted nose, Lucy the golden retriever had almost perfect camouflage. The sea-breeze created buoyant waves in her fur, and she stood there in canine proudness, truly belonging to that storybook-perfect costal scene.
From nowhere comes a golden retriever, playful and quick, galloping over the Earth toward Edmund.
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