It was picture perfect, each visit to the Hannah farm. A nice leisurely drive from Crestline to 40th Street, followed by a swirling canine greeting by Tova and Dodger, and some uber-exhausting puppy play in the hours to come. Number Five couldn't have been any closer to nirvana then when we were there.
Happily, we were both in our bliss. His, covered in doggie saliva and an elated panting version of burnout. Mine, laced with root beer and irreplaceable great conversation with dear friend Karen and her husband Ken.
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