Oh God. Here we go. “Good Lord, Bingo,” Sabrina said, wiping her hands on the front of her jeans. “Can we tone it down please?” The dog was now thirty-five pounds of golden brown and white fur. But its bark belonged on a ninety-five pound dog. At least. Sabrina rubbed Bingo’s head as she hopped onto the deck and headed into the century-old house she now called home. By the time she reached the foyer, the door was opening and she smiled when she spied Allie. “You have to finish these because I already ate a carton.” Allie shoved a half-eaten takeout container of poutine into Sabrina’s hands and sailed past her. The French Canadian dish wasn’t exactly healthy, but who could resist the best French fries in town, smothered in cheese curds and hot gravy? Sabrina popped one into her mouth and followed her friend back outside into the yard.
