Frank's testy little bowser-box has the celestial stature of a demigod; yet she serves him muttishly. Her small squeaks are the collisions of stars, but when her bowl is empty and her stomach growls, the depth of her commitment to the trilobular chuck-buster is revealed; she never lifts a paw against her master. Pupshaw conceals in her brightness a dark concern; she knows that if Frank were to come to harm her life would be without purpose.
Source: The Frank Book
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