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	<title>Comments on: Moggies, then and now</title>
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	<description>A French Bulldog breeder&#039;s blog.</description>
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		<title>By: Cletus Residence</title>
		<link>http://bullmarketfrogs.com/blog/2009/11/moggies/#comment-5371</link>
		<dc:creator>Cletus Residence</dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Sat, 14 Nov 2009 13:03:43 +0000</pubDate>
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		<description>Speaking of cats, there is a lost village like your little Moggie, a ocean faring village just outside Gloucester, MA, where the blueberries grow wild and thick on the foundations of long abandoned houses.  When I was 15, I stayed for a brief summer visit with my late father, the poet Robert Creeley, in his summer home in Annisquam, and you could reach that village through a narrow dark path that wound up the hill behind his house through huge old trees that dated back to the Pilgrims.  The path opened up suddenly into a large sunfilled plateau, with blueberries and old foundation stones stretching as far as eye could see.  It was magical.  It was called Dogtown.</description>
		<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>Speaking of cats, there is a lost village like your little Moggie, a ocean faring village just outside Gloucester, MA, where the blueberries grow wild and thick on the foundations of long abandoned houses.  When I was 15, I stayed for a brief summer visit with my late father, the poet Robert Creeley, in his summer home in Annisquam, and you could reach that village through a narrow dark path that wound up the hill behind his house through huge old trees that dated back to the Pilgrims.  The path opened up suddenly into a large sunfilled plateau, with blueberries and old foundation stones stretching as far as eye could see.  It was magical.  It was called Dogtown.</p>
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