He had a great, great--well very distantly related--grandfather named Rip, but this particular Winkle is less renowned for napping and more beloved for his ability to croon the blues.
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Happiness and wonder take root on an early twentieth-century farm.
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An intergalactic promotion, three heavy hearts, and a trippy time-travel tour with a talking horse.
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No one wants to become the Cretaceous Crunchies of the modern era.
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In the great pecking order of life, we’ve hit the North Pole lottery.
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Parental guidance strongly suggested: this post contains fowl language.
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