If they ever return I will be here, waiting, waiting for the food they will bring, the food we've longed to obtain, the food and the biskets. Yes, biskets. Because that's how dogs spell them. B.I.S.K.E.T.S. And they are good. Good like butter fly wings dipped in brown bisket gravy dumplings. And Oh how I long for them to return to me to bring me those biskets. Please let them come. And let the snows melt. And let little showers of fragrant biskets rain down on us like the gods love us, like we've barked loud enough and hard enough to grow more biskets. Brown biskets. Brown like gravy.
