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I had just had coffee with my out-of- this-world Pilates instructor (she who can be found at and was on my way out the door when my ever vigilant

hug antenna spied this lovely little lady, brown curly hair, wrinkled face, summery dress at the

She was peeping into a brown paper bag, the bakery attendant next to her, obviously explaining

the contents and at her feet was a teeny black terrier on a leash.

I honed in on the little dog, of course. Funny little thing, shaven body, spiky moustache and

tangly top knot. And got myself the expected kisses.

Straightening up to say hello to the owner I was greeted with an ear to ear smile and a “you must

spend hours next to the pool to get that tan.”

I quickly corrected her that no, I never lay out at the pool but I lived on a boat. Whatever. She

liked what looked like so the heck with running late, I peddled my request for a hug.

And what a hug I got. “I love hugs,” she said as we finally, with lots of laughter, let go.

Funky (not his real name, didn’t ask his name) obviously felt left out and went “woof.” I bent

The lovely baking lady was still there and, I thought to myself, enjoying the spectacle. That

made her a prime target for a hug. (You must realize I have to stockpile for those days when I

She was lovely, just lovely. She was also wearing an apron covered in flour.

My Pilates gear blended well with the flour and with final wave and a woof, I went on my way.

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