My 10 lb. terrier Bitefighter and I are being chased by a rabid pack of gray wolves. These things are motha duckin’ MONSTERS!!! They’re gaining on us and Bitefighter looks up at me with a heartbreaking gaze as if to say “This is it buddy. I’m glad to have known and loved you.” Something clicks in my head: I open my eReader to Echo. Magic flash. The ghost of Han Solo appears (the greatest pimp of all time; I mean have you guys not seen Empire when Leia says, “I love you,” and he’s like, “I know.” Holy Balls!) He reaches down to touch Bitefighter’s forepaw with a magic-threaded Corellian finger. Gives us that crooked Han Solo grin. “Now you have the pimp hand, little fella. Use it well.” He disappears. Bitefighter stops and turns, facing a rushing wave of teeth and snarls. He backhands the whole pack with a tiny forepaw that blazes like the mother of all hypernovas, and sends them flying a hundred yards back in a crazy tangle of fur and legs. Saved!