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Susan Anderson

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Be careful if you see “Mamma Mia” at Casper College (which you should); you’ll wake up with “Dancing Queen” by the ‘80s pop group ABBA swirling around in your head. That’s not all bad, because you’ll also have the giddy sense of joy that you felt dancing out of the Krampert Theatre after the performance.

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Let’s just call 2021 the Summer of the Fly. It’s an improvement over last year, the Summer of the Grasshopper, followed by a garden-killing Labor Day snowstorm.

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Anderson writes:

Wait, I thought, those guys I worked with on countless Wyoming stories nearly starved to death in a treacherous canyon and risked freedom and a future in Poland for a great adventure. They were condemned by their home country, rescued from utter poverty by Polish acrobats they met by chance in Las Vegas, celebrated as heroes in Peru and saved from a dangerous return to possible arrest at the very last minute with the help of Sen. Alan Simpson.

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Anderson writes:

The carefully researched and constructed itinerary was required to factor in dogs on the road in a stupendous heat wave, a sometimes-cranky caffeine-addicted sidekick (me) and the desire to savor the rich feast of what Americans will do to attract the curious to their hometowns.

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Anderson writes:

A sociable and friendly animal, Amos wasn’t happy with the situation. He’s handsome, clicker-trained and likes people, such a charmer that when Bobbi briefly considered finding him a home so he could stay in Wyoming, she immediately had a waiting list to adopt him, a list which included me.

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About the Casper Mountain Music Festival Anderson writes:

Bringing such a diverse group to Wyoming from as far away as Ukraine and closer to home as Los Angeles and Las Vegas gives local music lovers access to excellence they might have to travel far to hear.

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Anderson writes: 

Knowing that Frankie held a special place in her son’s heart, Mary Ann pasted 1,000 posters around Casper to find the cat. The day before she was to leave, she got a call from someone who found a grey cat matching Frankie’s description on her doorstep.

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Anderson writes: 

It was pure pleasure to inform a Boston native at lunch that our own Rocky Mountain Oysters are actually a thing. It took nerve to utter “bull testicles” at the elegant table covered with a white tablecloth and sporting fine crystal wine glasses.

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Anderson writes: 

You see, I never drove a rear-wheel truck in snow before, but I figured, what could go wrong?

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Anderson writes: 

I was so elated, I wanted to shout “Good boy, Blue! I was so worried. And, by the way, what were you thinking?” But I knew he wouldn’t hear me. So, I said the words anyway and discovered that he didn’t need to hear it; I did.

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