Nobody has gotten the giveaway phrase exactly right yet (very close, but no cigar yet!). I'll keep the giveaway running until Sunday and if nobody gets it exactly, the winner will be the person who was closest ;) Update: we have a winner! Congratulations, Amie P.!
Another great episode! Not sure if someone has already been successful but:
It’s helpful, in the midst of an existential crisis, to find yourself driving a bread box Winnebago down a two-lane road, winding through Texas farmland.
In 1963, we lived for a year in a super-cool, Frank Lloyd Wright-ish type house in the well-heeled hills outside of Rockville, Maryland, housesitting for diplomats spending a year in Romania. We were at edge of a woods, on the perimeter of which were equally cool homes that were spaced far apart enough that we couldn't see each other. One day, my Dad picked up two reddish-tan beagle mixes from someone selling pups at the side of the road, and we immediately fell in love, naming them Ruffy and Tuffy. (We were five kids.) My French mother was not a dog person, but of course they adored her most for feeding them. We never had to walk them, because they did their business in the woods, where they loved running around with us. Near the end of our year there, I think they sensed somehow we were leaving this paradise, and one day simply did not come home when called. (This was in the days you often didn't even collar your dogs with ID if you live somewhat in the country.) We chose to believe they were adopted by one of the horse-owning families on the other side of the woods and turned into hunting hounds, which would totally have suited them. If they had a more untoward fate, (like being hit by a car) my parents were wise enough not to tell us, but our next dog, Zorro, was collared, tagged and regularly walked down our classic suburban street.
[I vote for a rescue mutt for you. Mixed breeds are also the healthiest.]
It's helpful, in the midst of an existential crisis, to find yourself driving a breadbox Winnebago down a two-lane road, winding through Texas farmland.
WAIT! I missed a hyphen! Does this count now, Courtney?
It's helpful, in the midst of an existential crisis, to find yourself driving a bread-box Winnebago down a two-lane road winding through Texas farmland.
It's helpful, in the midst of an existential crisis, to find yourself driving a bread-box Winnebago down a two-lane road, winding through Texas farmland.
It’s helpful in the midst of an existential crisis to find yourself driving a breadbox Winnebago down a two lane road winding through a Texas farmland.
So my friend has a personality-plus Bernese Mountain dog (about nine years old now), but until recently I thought it was "Burmese," like a dog bred to shake pythons, which I could totally see him doing. But then I learned it was Bern, like Switzerland, and I can also see him getting me out of the Alps.
Nobody has gotten the giveaway phrase exactly right yet (very close, but no cigar yet!). I'll keep the giveaway running until Sunday and if nobody gets it exactly, the winner will be the person who was closest ;) Update: we have a winner! Congratulations, Amie P.!
Another great episode! Not sure if someone has already been successful but:
It’s helpful, in the midst of an existential crisis, to find yourself driving a bread box Winnebago down a two-lane road, winding through Texas farmland.
In 1963, we lived for a year in a super-cool, Frank Lloyd Wright-ish type house in the well-heeled hills outside of Rockville, Maryland, housesitting for diplomats spending a year in Romania. We were at edge of a woods, on the perimeter of which were equally cool homes that were spaced far apart enough that we couldn't see each other. One day, my Dad picked up two reddish-tan beagle mixes from someone selling pups at the side of the road, and we immediately fell in love, naming them Ruffy and Tuffy. (We were five kids.) My French mother was not a dog person, but of course they adored her most for feeding them. We never had to walk them, because they did their business in the woods, where they loved running around with us. Near the end of our year there, I think they sensed somehow we were leaving this paradise, and one day simply did not come home when called. (This was in the days you often didn't even collar your dogs with ID if you live somewhat in the country.) We chose to believe they were adopted by one of the horse-owning families on the other side of the woods and turned into hunting hounds, which would totally have suited them. If they had a more untoward fate, (like being hit by a car) my parents were wise enough not to tell us, but our next dog, Zorro, was collared, tagged and regularly walked down our classic suburban street.
[I vote for a rescue mutt for you. Mixed breeds are also the healthiest.]
It's helpful, in the midst of an existential crisis, to find yourself driving a breadbox Winnebago down a two-lane road, winding through Texas farmland.
WAIT! I missed a hyphen! Does this count now, Courtney?
It's helpful, in the midst of an existential crisis, to find yourself driving a bread-box Winnebago down a two-lane road winding through Texas farmland.
Third time's the charm? ;-)
It's helpful, in the midst of an existential crisis, to find yourself driving a bread-box Winnebago down a two-lane road, winding through Texas farmland.
Winner winner chicken dinner! I’ll DM you for your address!
It’s helpful in the midst of an existential crisis to find yourself driving a breadbox Winnebago down a two lane road winding through a Texas farmland.
So my friend has a personality-plus Bernese Mountain dog (about nine years old now), but until recently I thought it was "Burmese," like a dog bred to shake pythons, which I could totally see him doing. But then I learned it was Bern, like Switzerland, and I can also see him getting me out of the Alps.
A dog of many talents!