I didn't mention this before because I thought maybe you didn't want to hear about it but 10 days ago we drove to Lincoln to get a dog for Kristy's mom and it is awesome. It's a little black mutt and it's now named Molly and everybody loves it no matter how much piss it deposits on the carpet.
The ride from Lincoln is semi-epic in an English sort of way; three hours which we Americans do without thinking twice about it; I once drove from Greenfield, MA to Burlington, VT - 3.5 hours-ish - for asolutely no reason. At all. When I got there I had a coffee and left. That was it.
But this was a long trip according to every English person I've spoken to. The dog was fine for the whole journey. Mellow. In fact we thought there was something wrong with her she was so chiled out. Then, 20 minutes from our destination she produced a perfect, sausage-like cyinder of vom on my lap. Fair play, she's a puppy. Then again, 10 minutes later and again when we pulled up to the house. Was my enthuiasm dampened? Not at all.
Now I'm in London and I really miss the little scamp. So, though she looks nothing at all like the Littlest Hobo I'd like to consider the following her theme song:
1 comment:
Jesus, I thought you was the little-est hobo.
And I disagree that Americans, generally, consider 3.5 hours a short trip. You've been skewed by your time out West: 3.5 hours is just as long in new england as it is in OLD england.
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