Getting my psychedelic ducks in a row

It's exactly one week until Bonnaroo. That's exactly one week until the festival gates will be open, my tent will be pitched, and I'll be 804 miles and an entire world away from Philadelphia. This is what 804 miles and an entire world looks like:

That's also what nine brazilian 13 hours in the car looks like. This is also what six x infinity 13 hours in the car looks like:


Lucky for us, B and I have a slew of road trips under our belts and about 25 cachillion hours of living-out-of-the-car experience. Like that time we went camping in New Zealand and we got lost and fought for an hour about where to camp for the night, or the time we went mountain biking in Taupo and we got lost and it started to get dark and we thought we were going to die in the woods because we couldn't possibly pedal one more step, and even our past experiences at Bonnaroo when we thought we were actually far away in a land of mystical fairies and little gnomes.

It's also a good thing that B and I actually like going on road trips. We like spending the entire days in the car, calling out funny bumper stickers, solving vanity lcns pl8 pzzls, and pressing our unwashed feet against the windshield. Except for that time my someone's unwashed feet actually cracked the windshield and B someone was all like what the feck are you doing with your unwashed feet on the windshield anyway?!

We like turning the radio up, and we get a certain satisfaction every time we pass another state line. Spending all that time in the car gives us time to think about things we normally don't have time for. Like what our next love letter to Paul Rudd should say.

The only difference this year is we have one more thing to take care of before we head south. And it drools.
And every time we do leave him he goes all SHKJSYZK I'm gonna rip the crap out of this book and chew the crap out of this shoe and eat the crap out of this trash and maybe even poop in the tub. But tub pooping aside, Hurley needs a home for five days.

The last time B and I were out of town, Hurley stayed with my parents. But since he allegedly unwrapped hundreds of dollars of Christmas presents, and allegedly knocked the Christmas tree over, and allegedly ate all of the Christmas plants, they're all like your dog is out of control. I'm not sayin' he didn't do it, I'm just sayin' he never ate my Christmas plants.

Anyway, it's pretty obvious Hurley is going to have to spend five days in hell a kennel. Right now he has reservations at Club Le Pooch. Srsly? Yes, srysly. But Club Le Pooch might not be all its Frenched up to be. Because at Club Le Pooch, you actually have to pay extra for your dog to be given outside play time, and they charge you by the minute, and you only get a maximum of 30 extra minutes per day. What the le feck?

That's where you come in (not you, mom). Does anyone know of any good kennels (or better yet, dog sitters) in the Philadelphia area where dogs are given ample fresh air, grass, and play time? Please halp! Tweet