Behind the box hedge ice cream cone and the picket fence, everyone is dreaming about dogs.
The father is being chased down the street by rip-roaring rottweilers. It is the first of the month and the rent is due. The mother, hosting some neighbors to coffee & cake, is feeding the TV Guide to the family dog, an Irish Setter named Ramparts. The eight-year-old son is sitting in Taco Bell with a table full of chihuahuas.
At breakfast, not a word is said of anyone's canine visions. The father reads the sports section while the mother waits for the toast to brown. Young Albert smothers his scrambled eggs with ketchup.
Ramparts barks restlessly. No one knows why.
Or do they?
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