Published June 2, 2010

You return to the pet store prepared to buy a dog

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In order to not be caught in a lie to conceal your memory loss, you return to the pet store in the hopes of finding a suitable dog. It will need to have a compatible personality, and if possible some of its shots. You have a vague recollection that a good and noble dog can fetch newspapers and ward off would-be burglars. You don’t need anything that fancy, though.

“Hello, I’m looking for a dog,” you explain. The man is a bit reserved, pushing around bird cages and feeding fish. “Excuse me,” you begin again, “which is your finest dog, sir?” The man gives a canned response about how all of their pets make fine pets.

You realize you’re going to have to start throwing some money around to get decent service in this pet shop. “I say!” at this, you have his complete attention, “I say, I am interested in purchasing your finest canine. Chop chop!”

The man is suddenly interested in helping you. You peer into an aquarium with an intense curiosity, tapping the glass repeatedly with your gentleman’s walking stick.

“Sir, what type of dog, exactly, are you looking for?”

You decide to: