Your place or mine?

As I returned home from my vacation in DC I noticed that there was a dog in my back yard. And this dog happened to be barking and growling in my general, well, specific direction. Immediately wanting to find out which one of us was at the wrong address I peek in the kitchen window and see a couple of empty Papa Johns boxes, a loaf of bread that has not been properly closed and my roommate. I conclude that this is my place, and that some how the dog had perhaps stumbled home to the wrong address. However, for the next three days I was greeted at my driveway with a bark that sounded pretty much like "what the hell are you doing here?". The dogs name is Maggie and my roommate has unofficially given it a new home, which happens to be my home as well. We are warming up to one another, with a little help from the bologna with a first name.