It wasn’t a coup, but the end result is the same

Welcome to Madagascar, where there’s a new president in town. And “in town” is the operative word.

Despite what’s been reported in the media, there was no coup in Madagascar. The violent protests that started on September 25 saw a lot of looting that weekend, but after that the protests, which initially were about lack of electricity and water shortages, became more targeted and restricted to downtown – nowhere close to my neighborhood.

Gen Z protests worldwide are causing upheaval, and the pressure continued on the president, who, trying to save his job, fired, essentially, the whole government. The president went into hiding but occasionally made statements from whatever undisclosed location he was at. Rumors started about him trying to flee the country. Some said he was hiding out in the French embassy, as he’s a dual citizen.

Claiming his life was in danger – which many don’t believe – he fled the country. Or, more correctly, he deserted his post. This was done surreptitiously. The rumor is that he took a helicopter to Ile Sault Marie (close to where I vacationed recently) and then took a French military flight to Dubai, Mauritius, France or somewhere. Lot of rumors about his final destination as well as denials from Macron about transporting him.

And then, back home, he was impeached. Since he’d fired basically the whole presidential succession chain, the military stepped in to govern until a replacement government was elected, which they promised would happen in a year and a half to a year. There was no military takeover. And the military has already named a new president, a new prime minister and a new what’s basically the speaker of the house.

Side Eye during DogTV

I can’t remember what day the transition happened, but holy cow, the morning after, people were absolutely rejoicing. They were ready for this change. No one knows what’s going to happen, and there will be growing pains, but right now, everything is good in Mada.

It’s been a year since I got here, and I was in language before, so it’s been a long time since I left Baghdad. And finally, I got around to having a T-shirt quilt made out of my Baghdad T-shirt! Labor is cheap here and for the most part it’s quality. Sometimes, stuff happens, though. Guy I know wound up overpaying waaaay too much for some cabinets that turned out to be not great. I’m happy with my quilt, but I’m baffled that I handed over 30 shirts and got a lovely quilt made out of 24 of them. Absolutely no idea where the others went, and I had supplied enough material, I’m sure, to fill another but it didn’t come back, either. Oh well. I really do like it.

However, at the moment, it’s upside down on the floor, covering one of my Turkish rugs. I do this because the little Street Diva Dog can’t shake her chewing habit and the rug has tempting tassels. So it’s completely covered. Until this morning, I had two other blankets covering it but somehow the Regal Beagle managed to throw up on not one but FIVE of my rugs/blankets. Ugh. Her stomach was bothering her, I could tell, and I heard her hacking. I couldn’t hustle her out in time but she relocated, then did it again. Poor baby.

Last week, that was me. I has some horrible, horrible poop virus. Kudzu actually threw up on our walk, so I was worried about her. As I went to bed, I remember starting to feel bad and then at 1:30 I woke up with this work issue on my mind, completely sweating and realizing I needed to hit the bathroom right that minute. After that went on for a while, I realized I was also about to toss my cookies. Luckily I have a bidet so I could do both at once.  Sweat literally poured off me and I was so hot that I got into the shower for maybe two minutes, too.

Diva Street Dog - the Regal Beagle

I got back into bed but it kept happening, and I realized I was sort of semiconscious. At one point, I felt myself falling off the toilet and caught myself, but I didn’t trust myself to stand up. I literally started crawling back to bed – it’s maybe 15 feet – and couldn’t even do that. I curled up on the bathroom floor, just laying here. I remember kind of fading and really wondering if I was dying. My breaths were shallow and I was just losing consciousness, for real. It wasn’t even scary so much as “Oh, I guess this is what happens.” I also remember thinking I could call the nurse, but that I’d never make it to the door to let her in so I didn’t.

But I finally felt OK enough to sit up and get my water bottle. I drank it down and made it to bed. Still, I remember wondering if I was going to lose consciousness and die or sleep, and if I’d know the difference as it was happening.

The next morning, I had no energy. Fortunately, Kudzu was fine, but I knew she was hungry because she hadn’t eaten dinner. But there was no way I was going to do it. Normally we’re walking at 6 a.m. but at 8:30 I texted Jax’s mom to see if she was going to walk him, and if she was, if she’d come get Zu. She loves my dog and came to get him. I hadn’t realized when she’d come, but I had mustered some strength and had just made it to the kitchen when they came over. Kudzu was thrilled to see them and so I was I; they brought some oral rehydration stuff, a couple bananas and some Bulgarian remedies.

The whole day, all I did was lie on the sofa. I had a DVD in – Dukes of Hazzard, Season 1 – and the bottle of oral hydration mix next to me, but I could barely move to drink it. I did manage to text the hiking group to say I wouldn’t make it the next day, knowing the nurse would see the message. She called and then came over to check on me. By that time, I had a fever. I finished the day with <100 steps and I was happy I got those.

Sunday was about the same, although Dukes gave way to Big Little Lies. I was a tad stronger and took Kudzu to the dog park to meet Jax’s owners. I didn’t make it all the way and we just lay in the garden until they came. The fever finally broke Sunday night. By now, I am mostly recovered, though I am still getting winded easily. It was my first real illness here. I really didn’t want the badge of honor but kind of feel like I got off easy. The bummer, though, was that I didn’t lose any weight! That’s unfair after what I went through.

 

Protests, Furloughs and Needy Mutts – Oh My!

For those paying attention to this end of the world, the country is dealing with protests due to power outages. We basically went on lockdown last week, not because the protests are directed to U.S. staff in any way, but because protesters are clogging roads, especially downtown, and no one (especially local staff) can get in to work.

Because we’re pretty much secluded in our excusive neighborhood, I haven’t seen any protests close and personal. Last week, however, I had been hosting a class (which they’ll never let me do again, I’m sure) and on Wednesday we learned there’d be protests Thursday.  My poor class – 15 people in from all over Africa, plus Prague and Kathmandu (who, of course, had their own country issues) – had to go to their hotel and finish in a conference room.

Credit Xinhua

That evening, looters (which, at this point, we don’t know if they were regular citizens or people were on the take somehow) really got to the area where the hotel was. I mean, really got to it. The class was eating dinner around 6 p.m. and the hotel came back over and said to go to the rooms, lock the door, close the curtains and turn off the lights. The hotel staff stayed overnight and barricaded the door while the area around was pummeled.

That’s class they’ll never forget, that’s for sure. Everyone’s flights were messed up. One of them had to cancel a three-week vacation in Madagascar and two others (the two from Kathmandu) were the last two be able to get home, but they finally made it.

It was interesting, though. The continent is not immune to intra-country issues and when we told the two class facilitators (from Zambia and Niger) that we’d have to hold the class at the hotel, they didn’t bat an eye. It was like, “Oh, OK.”

With the exception of Tuesday (or maybe it was Wednesday), I’ve been working from home. My God, my dog is needy. She’s a sweetie but she wants her ears scratched 24/7. I’m not the only person home, so she has taken breaks to hassle the housekeeper, the people working on my leaky kitchen ceiling (again) and a colleague who’s been using my kitchen. She likes lot of people in the house but in the end I’m the one she wants to entertain her.

Credit: AFP

It's hard to explain to her that although I am home, I am working and unable to walk her all 8.5 hours of the working day. She has also been feeling off her game and growled at the housekeeper, which she has never done before.

Everything is off-kilter. Today I went to the grocery store for the first time in three weeks and it was like hurricane prep. I bought more today than I have in forever. Much of it focused on junk and dog food.

The furlough has thrown even more off-kilter. My boss kept asking me to mark people excepted or not, and I was like, uh, this is above my pay grade, but here’s my recommendation. We also have to consider local staff, whom it may or may not be able to be legally furloughed. And people want information, of which I have none.

I picked a heck of a tour to go HR, that’s for sure.

Nearing a year

Yeah, it’s been awhile. Next week, I hit my year anniversary in Tana and I finally took my first in-country flight. Since I have done the three road trips I know about, most everything from here on out is by air. Flights are expensive and flight times are inconvenient, but you gotta do it.

There are 4-5 regions I want to go to, and I opted to start with Ile Aux Nattes, a small island south of a larger island just east off the coast of Madagascar, yet another island. It’s the tail end of whale season and I’d hoped to see some humpbacks. That didn’t happen, but it was still lovely.

The place I stayed, #Sambatra Beach Lodge, was phenomenal and had lovely hosts. Maybe 6-8 bungalows, but I didn’t count. My room had a double bed, bunk beds and sometimes a cat that would crawl in through the window. It was billed as “steps from the beach,” which, in my experience, means about 500 to a quarter of a mile’s worth. Nope. I could have thrown a coconut from my porch to the water, and it faced west so I had a fantastic view of the sunsets.

Since I’ve just returned from R&R (which was neither “r” nor “r,” hence the need for the getaway), I didn’t want to take actual time off so I just hopped up there for Labor Day weekend, leaving early (4 a.m.) Saturday and returning around 10-11 p.m. on Monday. Turned out, I was able to check in as soon as I arrived and nap, so that was great. Then the fabulous host, Vincent, set me up with a lovely couple originally from Yugoslavia but, upon fleeing home in 1988, had relocated to the U.K.

Incidentally, for the bird watchers, Denis runs a bird-watching tour company that travels to his former country, which is now Bosnia Herzegovina. It’s called #Wild Herzegovina.  

The three of us took a boat out with Florio to a sandbar in the Indian Ocean, where we wandered around and collected some cool shells on the sandbar and then came back to the island and had a lovely meal at a restaurant there. I had grilled white tuna and it was not only utterly fabulous but incredibly cheap.

The second day, the three of us took a whale-watching trip and came up empty, but if the consolation prize is a couple hours on a boat on a beautiful day, I’m in. The weather was absolutely fantastic the whole time I was there. A friend had gone the week before and it had rained, so my timing was as perfect as the cloudless sky.

Our excursion was done by lunch and I set out to explore the island, which is about one kilometer wide and two long. My goal for the final day was to walk the perimeter, so I cut through inland here and there, racking down two of three discotheques and a lady who ran a store and was able to sell me yogurt and a fake Coke about the time I was getting desperate for caloric intake.

Since my flight didn’t leave until 9 p.m. the last day, I really wanted to just walk around the beach, toes in the water all the way. Well, there were two points I had to throw on sandals and go the dry land path and one I should have. I faced some big rocks and, having faced similar ones earlier, I thought, I can do this. Wrong.

Now, I was cautious and cognizant of fact that I am over 50, traveling alone and was out of sight from humans unless the occasional passing boat passengers glanced by way. I took it slow, but man, I slipped in one place and went in down to my bellybutton. I was NOT wearing a swimsuit, and my JanSport bag went under. It’s funny these days; my safety was second to the phone! I yanked that bag up so fast and then was like, geez, I’m soaked!

But both phones were fine – that bag is pretty water-resistant. (Plug for #JanSport – I’ve probably had that bag over 25 years and it still holds up!) I had been on the second half of the walk and by the time I got back to the bungalow I had and mostly dried out. I just have a thing for boats and docks. When I look back through my photos, that’s pretty much what I have.

Randomly, I also managed to find something I’ve been hunting for for a few years now – a flag patch for my jacket. Although there’s tourism, the tourism industry hasn’t caught on and there’s not a lot of chintzy crap for sale. That’s good, but I have flag patches on a denim jacket for all the countries in which I’ve served (not traveled to) and Madagascar has been a tough find. But Vincent had some and I was so happy. I’d already checked out and everything, then wandered into the little shop. It was on the exit wall along with a bunch of others and I just grabbed it and went to hunt down Vincent. I said I needed it and he laughed and said, “Need?”

 And yes, as a matter of fact, I did need it.

Not much going on

My dog is bored out of her mind. Her best friend, Jax, is off at camp because his parents are in America. His other good friends, Bobby and Panza, are also back in America because their parents worked for USAID and are now unemployed.

Someone is spoiled

Kudzu used to spend pretty much all day with Jax and Jax’s mom, who worked DC hours so she could take the canines on a long walk mid-morning. It wasn’t in the long-term plan to have her there every day, but Zu and Jax just got along so well that it seemed silly to stop doing it.

Most everyone here – pretty much everyone but me – has household help, like housekeepers, nannies, cookies, driver and gardeners. Everyone with pets has someone there to watch them during the day. With Jax’s parents leaving for over a month, I figured I should find someone. As it turned out, it was a lot harder than I thought it would be. I mean, cost of labor is cheap here, but the skill set was a little out of the norm. What I needed was a dog-walker who could clean my house a little bit, but most people have their gardeners or drivers do the dog-walking. I have no interest in either of those, so it was a little rough. I thought I had a line on a good housekeeper who would be willing to take the dog for a long walk, but it fell through because I needed someone from around 10-2 so Zu wouldn’t be alone for more than four hours at a stretch. She doesn’t do good alone – she starts to howl.

With our USAID staff leaving, I truly didn’t foresee any issues, but man, it was hard but someone came through at the 11^th hour! I’d asked earlier about her availability, but she had a full-time job lined up after her AID house was vacated (she previously worked for Panza’s parents). By a week before Jax’s parents left, I was scrambling but then the person would up learning she wouldn’t start the full-time job until August. Since I leave for R&R before that, she was available!

So for six weeks now, I’ve had a housekeeper half time. My vision had been for her to hang out with my dog mostly, and maybe clean a room a day. Well, I came home the first day and my entire house was spotless! There was a note apologizing for not making it to the patio! I was like, hello, you were going to clean the patio? I never even thought of that.

It’s been wonderful. She’s great with Kudzu and gives her two long walks during that time, and she’ll play with her, too. Let’s face it – my house does not require deep cleaning daily. I’m one person, so there’s plenty of time for her to get some puppy play time.

Our selfie attempt

But the house is also amazingly clean. She FOLDS my PJs. One day, when I went to put my pants back on the rack, I saw the white ones, which are not in the “work clothes” rotation, in a different place in the row of pants than I normally keep them. I had a split moment of thinking, “geez, why did she do this?” and realized she’d put my pants in order from light to dark. It’s so organized! She FOLDED the pants I keep on shelves and she somehow cleans my entire shower daily. It’s amazing.

I could definitely get used to it, but it’s scheduled to end next week. However, if I understood correctly – my French is pretty bad – the job she is planning to start might not be a done deal. If she is available, I’d absolutely welcome having her daily. It’s basically $5 a day for someone to clean my house and play with my dog. I’ll take it.

Hit the road

 

Everything else will be by air since I’ve crossed my last (known) road trip. I went with a small group to Ampefy a couple weeks ago, which is a fun area about three hours away. We stayed at this lodge that had little cabins with a wonderful view of the sunrise over a lake.

For hiking, we did a couple different trails, one of which had three volcanic crater lakes. Another was to Lily waterfall, and we also hit a little geyser, which was beautiful.

The food was fantastic! The other place I’d gone to with a group had highly touted food that was just as highly disappointing, but this place had great stuff. I had some kind of baked fish – out of the lake – the first afternoon. It was amazing, but I was so stuffed from the late lunch that I couldn’t handle dinner. I opted for a “dessert” fruit plate, which had a medley of tasty stuff including strawberries, which are a rarity here.

But my highlight was my first shot at parasailing! I had no idea it was available and when we learned it was an option most of us signed up to do it the first morning. At the crack of 8 a.m., a cigarette smoking guy from Reunion came and took us up one by one. When someone asked who’d go first, my hand shot up – no trepidation at all. I guess once you jump out of a plane, as I did in Australia, it’s all downhill.

Oh, the views were lovely! The takeoff was a bit weird because the flight price included a video. I could have done without that, but it was non-negotiable. The Reunion guy mostly held the GoPro, but I had to hold on to it during takeoff, when the boat would speed off and we’d launch into the air. As I’ve never used a GoPro before and don’t really do selfies anyway, I had no idea how to hold the thing. You run as you launch—not far, but it was like taking fast steps with some guy strapped to your back while you’re holding a small flagpole in front of you like Florida State scored a touchdown and you’re spelling S-E-M-I-N-O-L-E-S in flags.

Once up, and once I figured out what to do with my hands, it was smooth sailing. The flight itself wasn’t more than 10 minutes but it felt like a peaceful eternity. We went over the lake a and then they cut us loose to sail up the mountain and back down. It’s beautiful from above.

We went one at a time and those who weren’t flying were enjoying a cup of cocoa and some croissants on the shore of the lake. Quite a lovely start to the day.

My first Foreign Service wedding

Last weekend I went to my first Foreign Service wedding. I’ve been in over a decade, so I was due. A guy I work with married one of our local staffers, a mechanical engineer. In the position he’s in, he sometimes has to cover for our boss, who indirectly supervises the engineer position. Because of this, I, being HR, have to do some paperwork to make sure in those cases, we’d have someone else indirectly supervise the wife. (Hey, it’s the federal government – we create paperwork.) One of the questions in the paperwork is to make sure the American employee didn’t have any influence on the hiring of the spouse, because the paperwork is mostly done well before the spouse has a job. In this case, I was able to affirm that the American employee had no influence on his spouse’s job, because she’d been there 15 years before he ever arrived.

Not knowing what to expect from the wedding, I carpooled and arrived maybe 20 minutes early. It was at 11 a.m. and I fully expected to be home around 3 p.m. Nope, not even close. Although the wedding was (or at least seemed) more American than Malagasy, it took forever and the reception was a huge party that went on and on. I made it til 5 p.m., and, sadly, the cake came after that. I really wanted some, but the reception was exhausting – as fun as it was.

First, though, the ceremony: it took over two hours. It was a joint English-Malagasy, with hymns and scripture readings in both languages. The sermon, in Malagasy, turned out to be a full-blown one and the animated pastor spoke for 30 minutes or longer. The Americans in the audience were so relieved once it was done because it seemed downhill after that, but the next pastor got up and said, “And now we must translate the sermon to English.” Oh, man.

The groom is a person who works in my section, and his parents, brother and sister-in-law came. In Madagascar, they do three different ceremonies for marriages and I think the family was pretty worn out. I knew he had at least one brother but didn’t know at first how many family members had come. (They’re from Texas.)

The ceremony seemed pretty American, with the marriage procession coming down the aisles just as I’d expect. The brother and his wife (I wasn’t sure at first if it was his wife or sister) came down, and then the bride’s side and then the groom’s mom came down, accompanied by a man I assumed was a brother. I remember thinking, “I wonder how many brothers there are and wow, they sure do resemble each other.” And at that point I started wondering where the groom was. The church was a small one with three sections, so there wasn’t a center aisle. I couldn’t figure out where the groom would stand, but once the ceremony got started, I forgot about looking for him and was just observing it and enjoying the hymns.

After those were done, the main minister came up and read a scripture, first in Malagasy and then in English. Then the second “brother” came up and read another, also first in Malagasy. And I thought, “Wow, his brother really must have rehearsed that – he’s doing great.” And then he switched to English and I realized it was the groom! I’ve worked with him six months and did not recognize him at all. The guy I work with had moppy hair, glasses and about a two-week shadow. This guy had close-cropped hair, was clean shaven and didn’t have glasses. I truly did not recognize him, and I wasn’t the only one. (And later, I sent a picture to someone who’s left post and she texted back said “THAT IS NOT HIM!”)

The wedding itself wound up after 1 p.m. or so, and the couple I’d carpooled with and I agreed we’d hang around the reception for an hour or so before bailing, but when we arrived at the venue (it was down the road and everyone caravaned) it became obvious there’d be no way to duck out. There was a huge outdoor area, complete with a photo booth, with drinks and snacks. And I truly thought that was it until I went into the building to find the bathroom and I discovered a huge room set up for a sit-down dinner.

It really was a lot of fun, but exhausting. The reception was in stages, with something happening, then some food, then more stuff, then more food. There was a lot of dancing and a lot of good fun. The couple had choreographed their first dance and, instead of a father-daughter dance there was a mother-son one, which they’d also choreographed. That one about brought me to tears because the groom was so close to crying. At one point, they were dancing close to our table, giving us a good look at his face. A friend at the table next to me grabbed me out of emotion and I looked at her, saying the groom was making me cry. She felt the same way.

Kudzu: more than an invasive vine – an invasive canine

Before

Life changed a couple months ago when I adopted/abducted a street dog. She’s Kudzu, so named because I like K names and I’m Southern. And it fits. This little critter has completely taken over my life.

Backing up, I like to walk, and on the main(ish) street outside my former neighborhood (about a mile from mu current neighborhood), there’s a shop of little food stall-like places, plus a restaurant or so. Behind those, there are little neighborhoods. Neighborhoods not like mine; more local. Which is to say, very poor, but with friendly people.

And there are street dogs. They are everywhere, with the exception of my gated neighborhood and the connecting two, which is where all my colleagues live. Daily, I walk at least some, even nif it’s only to catch the shuttle to work.

When I saw this skinny beagle-y dog with a sweet face and kind eyes, I brought her food. First I did it once, then once in a while and then every day. It got to where she knew me, and when she’d see me, I’d signal her and we’d try to find a secluded spot on the crowded street so she could eat alone. It worked for awhile, but a couple other dogs caught on (I called them Fake Shelby and Feather Tail), so when they joined, we’d share. Those two were about the same age, and there was a younger one, like a teen, whom I called Grits. I adored Grits, too, and wondered if I took just one, which one it would be. And that Grits and Kudzu would both be great dogs for a Tallahassee Lassie.

Before

The feedings continued regularly, but Kudzu – and she’s always been Kudzu – didn’t gain weight. There’s a vet sort of nearby (like a 20-minute walk) and I stopped by one Saturday and got some wormer. I told him of my plan to take her and he thanked me.

The wormer was two doses, two weeks apart and I noticed she still hadn’t gained any weight a week after one dose. The morning of the second dose, I was walking up the slight hill to get to the neighborhood gate. I could see her as I walked up the incline, but when I surfaced outside the gate, I didn’t see her. Since by that time, the feedings had been going on for two months, people knew me and what I was doing. Seeing my baffled expression, a guy in one of the little storefronts motioned me to a red double gate. I gave him a look like, “Is it OK?” and he signaled yes. (After all, it was kind of trespassing.)

Opening the gate, I found a run-down kind of Narnia – an apartment building, several free-standing residence that had been thrown together, lots of mud, a depressing air and my dog.

 She came running to me, as did her shadow – a furry little pup, maybe six weeks old. No wonder she hadn’t gained any weight! Little thing was sucking her dry. I gave her the food I had, and she shared it with the pup. Fake Shelby, Feather Tail and Grits were nowhere to be found, but I promised Kudzu I’d come back with more food.

Yesterday

When I did, I didn’t see her, but a young woman came down from the second floor and asked what I was looking for. In broken French, I tried to frame it: “Je suis regarde pour le chien … avec la bebe.” She said, in broken English, “Oh, you’re looking for the dog with the puppies?” It hadn’t occurred to me she might speak any English.

From her, I learned that Fake Shelby and Feather Tail “belonged” to someone, but Grits and Kudzu did not. Fake Shelby, Feather Tail and Grits were more than Kudzu’s bitches, they were truly Kudzu’s bitches – two litters of her pups.

And I learned that the current litter had seven pups. They were weaned at that point, because when I brought some leftover chicken from a Korean restaurant in the neighborhood (a great restaurant and the only restaurant in the neighborhood), one of them ate the chicken.

I didn’t want seven puppies, or any puppies beyond the teenage Grits, so I just kept feeding Zuzu for a couple more weeks. I never saw more than two puppies and don’t know how many of the seven actually lived.

This kept up, with me feeding them at least once a day, usually before the morning shuttle. Some days, I’d catch a ride in with someone who’d pass me on the street. On one of those mornings, a Monday, I feed Kudzu – and only Kudzu, as there were no other pups that morning – I climbed into my friend’s car, buckled up, and looked down the road ahead.

There, in the middle of the street, lay a dead dog. I knew immediately that it was Grits, who’d weaseled her way into my heart so much that I’d come close to taking her home a few days before. Poor little thing.

Happy girl

The next morning, I saw Kudzu, and she had a puncture wound on her back and was putting no weight at all on one leg. It was clear she was starting to get beat up. I hadn’t seen the puppies for awhile at that point and when I asked, I discovered they’d been given away. I think she was getting beat up because the other dogs realized she didn’t have any value and she was too weak to defend herself.

That week, I stood guard as I fed her, warding off other dogs. Feather Tail, who definitely outweighed Kudzu and was much bigger, tried to attack her and I figured it was time to take Zuzu home. I’d been in contact with a vet with a car, so on a Friday we set a time to take her, have her spayed and vaccinated and then brought home.

Oh, it was so traumatic! Friday morning, she saw me and crossed the street in traffic to come jump on me and try to get in my backpack, the source of food. Feather Tail came running, too, and both were completely baffled that not only did I not have any, I slipped a foreign object around Kudzu’s neck. Obviously, she’d never seen a collar before, or a leash and she flipped out. I’d sized the collar wrong and hugged Zu close, telling it that it would be OK as the vet sized the collar to her skinny neck. It occurred to me that my face was close to her teeth and maybe that was a dumb idea since I hadn’t known her that long, but it was fine.

Yesterday

The experience absolutely terrified her. We scrambled her into the car, and when I went for the paperwork to return, I saw she’d crawled onto the dashboard like some kind of oversize bobblehead. Her eyes were filled with sheer terror.

The next time I saw her, those eyes were glazed over in a post-op daze. Poor baby had no idea what happened but was shuffled out of the truck into this strange place. Even entering the building scared her; it’s not likely she’s ever had a door close behind her, only in her face.

But she loved the back patio, and, once she went gingerly down the stairs, thoroughly enjoyed lying in the weeds in the yard, sunning herself.

It’s been about two months now and she’s gained weight and confidence. During our initial walks, she would freeze in fear when another dog would walk by, but she’s made a few friends now and enjoys hanging out at her friend Jax’s house during the day. Mostly, though, she loves not scrounging for food and sleeping in her bed, which is also my bed.

She’s learning how to be an American dog and not just a Malagasy mutt. She chews too much and nibbles too rough, but we’re working on that. She may go to boot camp in July, but the jury is still out on that.

She loves her life now, but one thing she hates is the other dogs in the house – the ones that live in the mirror. It’s so funny to watch because she will growl from across the room, then stalks up to the mirror to try to get them. This extends to reflections; every time we approach the entry doors, she leers and snarls at the approaching reflection. Even today, we were on the patio and I heard her growling. Initially I wasn’t even sure what the noise was and then I realized she’d caught a glimpse of herself in the sliding patio door. I thought she was going to charge it, but she held back.

The little invasive monster has taken over my life.