My neighbor’s name is Dakota. I won’t be able to tell you about his race, I’m completely clueless in that area of expertise. But she is slender, friendly, and unabashed. She comes to shit every single day in our beautiful, clean lawn (small update: we ended up cracking, stocking up on our plow and buying a mower, a real one, that snorts and smells like gasoline). And when we open the door, she rushes into the house before we have time to say hello, goes upstairs, visits the children’s rooms, the bathroom, in short, behaves as if she were at her own. Her master—the word is not badly chosen—allows her to do so without flinching. We were surprised but polite. So we don’t flinch either. And then, so hard to make American friends that we resigned ourselves to accepting trade in their dogs too (but only
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