The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with its many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Howdy Doodle
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It was four summers ago—nearly five—that Margaret drove the six hours or so
to the Bay Area, to an animal shelter that specialized in small dogs,
espe...
1 week ago
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