I cupped my hand over my mouth and exhaled

I cupped my hand over my mouth and exhaled and then inhaled sharply through my nose. Present. Very. Very. Present. I suddenly felt a great deal of empathy for my dog.
Who had passed and was in the doggie casket at the center of the mausoleum. The mourners milled about sniffing behinds, a fitting tribute, especially when done by people.
Not in a rude way done by random behind sniffers, but rather in respect to our dearly departed friend. If all celebrations of life were done in this way, I believe they would have
thought that Gaddafi looked suspiciously like Little Richard and
then realized the people were dying, not dancing in the streets. Nonetheless, he pressed on with the investigation. Why had
he overlooked such an obvious clue! His mind raced back to his childhood and the secret once told around the fire by the loveland lakehouse that fateful summer eve. Fate had come.
Fate was supposed to have faked it with the Spetsnaz agent, but she fell for him hard and couldn't stop herself. All was revealed at the lakehouse but the damage to the mission
was minimal since he was an agent of an obscure Septsnaz unit to kidnap lapdogs of rich kids in order to blackmail them into helping Chowprom capture the american dogchow market.
Chowprom briefly considered the average obscurity of Septsnaz, and his fellow members. "Just way out there," he decided. After capturing their 215th dog and still no money to show,
they boiled the lot.

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