So she left with the car, and after a while she came back with nothing. And I said, "Trixie, you had the credit card! Why in the world didn't you buy anything!"
And then my mom and I realized we were being ridiculous. "She's a dog" we said. "She can't carry stuff in by herself!" (Not "she can't drive" or "she can't use a credit card" but "she can't carry stuff in"). So we went out to the car and, sure enough, the backseat was full to the brim with dog food, treats, and toys.
I later had a dream in which Trixie was smoking and dancing to Billy Joel music.