When I first lived in Denver with Malcolm and Mollie, my collies, I pretty much spent my first six months or so goofing by camping in the various national forests within about a 200 mile radius to the west of Denver. Doggies weren’t so welcome in national parks and I rarely got in trouble when I violated the leash laws in the national forests.
About half of those excursions resulted in our returning to Denver from the west on I-70. The descent into Denver is one of those long grades where truckers are always cautioned to gear down lest they gain too much speed. Depending on the weather, sometime after passing Golden but always before I hit Denver proper, Malcolm and Mollie would start drooling. The first time making that trip back into town I had no idea what was going on, thinking the dogs might be sick.
Then, shortly after passing I-25, I got my first whiff, looked around and figured it all out—I was passing Purina’s factory just north of downtown Denver.
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