Seeing the country

Two out-of-town trips of late, one by air and one by van. This country is hard for travel but when you make it to a destination it’s pretty cool.

Work’s been nuts, and once the bone-crushing deadlines passed, I took a flight to the west coast city of Mahajanga. Accompanied by a visiting friend, we hit the beach, a couple of caves, a park with a legit baobab tree, and of course lemurs.

I’d originally planned to go alone but one of my friends contacted me in April and asked if she could visit in April or May. I was like, you mean *this* April or May? Most people don’t plan trips to Madagascar on the spur of the moment, but Foreign Service people aren’t “most people.” But since I had the bone-crushing work project, it wasn’t possible for her to visit before May 15, and I already bought a flight ticket to Mahajanga. Luckily, she was up for not only a trip to the capital but there, so she managed to get on the same flight as I had.

Since I’d originally only planned a super boring weekend, I had to step up the plans and arranged a guide and driver. As a result, we had a real itinerary, as opposed to the “read books by the beach” I had figured on. It was a lot more fun with another person along, that is for sure.

The Cirque Rouge was possibly my favorite, outside of being within sight of the beach. The Cirque Rouge is just a really cool valley-ish walk in an area with red clay walls. Due to erosion, there were a lot of these little stalagmite-type things, little baby towers (some of them really small) that each had what appeared to be a rock sitting on top of it. But they weren’t rocks – that was just how they eroded. For me, it was just fascinating. I felt like I was scouting ideas for a Pixar movie – there were scads of these things, and they almost looked like little cities.

My friend hadn’t seen lemurs and we went to two different places with them. They’re cute little suckers; I think we saw two species. At one of the same parks, there was a huge baobab tree, too. That was my first one, and it was so big I could climb up in it and sit back leaning on the trunk. It was huge, and, according to the guide, about 200 years old.

But just seeing the beach was lovely and peaceful. My friend collects seashells and we just walked up and down the beach looking at them. At one point, I waded out what seemed like a distance, but it was low tide and I never made it to water deeper knee-deep. I just sat and watched the waves.

 Last weekend, I went with a group to a place south of here called Antsirabe. There were about 10 of us and it was in conjunction with a work thing that I coordinate, so it was sort of a work trip, but not really. Or at least that’s what my intent was – to go for fun and not work. Except on the way there, there was awful road construction (which was new and we didn’t know about) that screwed up the trip by hours. Like three after we started – where we should have been over halfway – we were still in Antananarivo. So I was on the phone with my colleagues, who were in another car, trying to figure out how to change the plan with the least amount of stress for everyone. We wound up flipping the days we were going to do stuff and did the “on the way back” stuff on Friday and driving back a completely different (but longer and windier) way back on Sunday.

The trip was sightsee-y and culture-y,  and we saw demonstrations of stuff like how these really pretty papers are made, how they create aluminum pots and make some stone items and what work goes into creating a little model bike, which is made from mostly recycled parts. We ate traditional foods (and cooked a meal) and saw a performance of dance and drums.

And we froze. The place didn’t have heat and the place was colder than Tana. I was so far under the covers sat night and did not want to get out of bed. Heck, the first night I didn’t even take a shower because I didn’t want to take off my clothes.

Winter is officially here and I’m already colder than I was last year. I have no idea what’s going on. I can’t believe I am the same person who lived in both Minot and Minsk. It’s about 45-50 in the mornings and I’m so bitterly cold. Seriously, at that temperature in ND or Belarus, people are still wearing shorts.

Today for some reason I decided to buy broccoli and on the spur of the moment, I decided to make soup with it. It turned out really good and it’s been nice to have something warm.

But now the days are getting a little longer. My dog doesn’t like waking up in the dark, and since we lave for our walk around 5:20 a.m. and the sun hasn’t been rising until 6:20, she is not happy. Then it’s dark by 5:30 p.m. and we don’t walk until 6. This is why on the weekends and we go out in the afternoon, she just plops her but down in the sun and doesn’t move. Can’t say I blame her.

Cujo is a dirty girl

My dog hates girl dogs. And their owners. We’re working on it, but the thing goes all-out Cujo when, particularly, three neighborhood girl dogs walk by. She’s been happily social with two of them before, so I’ve no idea what happened there. The third she’s never met but absolutely goes insane when she walks by.

Yesterday, I figured out she also seems to hate the owners, or at least one. And this person is extremely friendly and nice, so it’s not like she came after my dog with a whip or something. Her fault, in my dog’s eyes, is that she’s the mother of a girl dog. And I thought it was just the dog and not the dog parent, but yesterday, Kudzu and I were hanging out in a green spot and she walked by. Kudzu turned into Cujo and tried to go after her.

I’ve no idea what to do. We’ve now got a “head collar,” which is kind of like a halter, but it doesn’t work for her any more than it did Kocur.

She loves, however, playing in dirt. I’d discovered this early on, when I was dismantling the rotted-out raised garden bed that was in my little yard. I’d be shoveling dirt out, she’d be digging at it in the opposite direction.

With that distraction gone, she laid off a bit, although she did recently find some kind of bird foot on a walk and carried it home through the neighborhood. Seriously, she held on to that thing for about a mile, then just short of the apartment she stopped and buried it. It lasted a week, then she dug it up and carried it home. She waffled on bringing it home because at the gazebo, which is right next to my apartment, she buried it again—dirt flying—and then immediately dug it up and brought it home. Fortunately, she took it right outside and I assumed she’d bury it—she’s buried bones both under the stairs and in these giant flower pots on the patio—but no, when I went out again, I discovered she’d left it right in the middle of the chaise lounge. Gross. Unbeknownst to her, I threw it over the fence. Please don’t tell my neighbor.

Now, her new distraction is this giant red dirt pile in a construction area near the tennis courts. (At the apartment complex but the gym charges American prices so not for me.) They’re building something back there and apparently it takes a lot of red dirt, much to the delight of my dog. She loves it, even more so in the morning before work when I am wearing light pants.

It runs the length of a wall, and her favorite thing is to run to the top as fast as her leash allows, which means I have to climb up behind her. White tennis shoes were good while it lasted. She loves to dig, roll around and just sit in it. I feel a little foolish just standing next to her, but I do indulge her a bit, especially if she lounges near the top, where I can sit on the fence and chill out. We amuse the guard immensely. I feel like a lot of guards are amused by the two of us.

Have a Coke after a long while

Happy Easter! It is Resurrection Monday and I am off. Pretty much enjoying a three-day weekend but not really. It’s mostly boring. Right now I am listening to a dog bark his fool head off in my apartment. For once, it’s not my dog; it’s her best friend. We don’t know why he barks, he just does. Sometimes it’s because his bowl is empty; sometimes it’s thunder or lightening, sometimes he wants the toys to move and sometimes he wants the water bowl to be filled. More often, it’s a mystery. It’s not too bad and he’s only here for a couple hours a day to ease his boredom while his parents are out of town. Kudzu likes having him around. She bosses him around and he’s patient enough to let her. It’s a symbiotic relationship.

Kudzu is now running back and forth from the floor-to-ceiling window in the kitchen, which has a little balcony thing that I leave open for her, through the apartment and out the sliding glass door to the fence, barking at full volume the whole time. The garden fence is a privacy fence so I can’t see what she’s barking at, but the whole neighborhood knows her. I live in the first apartment and the road sort of curves around, so she’ll see or hear someone (and usually their girl dog) out one and basically chase them to the other. It’s her exercise. Jax just looks bewildered.

Last week, the dogs tried to break me. We – Jax’s parents and brother and me and Zu – were walking and suddenly both Zu and Jax veered off and tripped me up. I crashed to the asphalt and curb. As I was falling, what someone told me crossed my mind: “We have to be careful when walking our dogs because if we fall, it takes longer to recover.”

Landed on my knee, elbow and wrist. Owie. I initially finished the walk with no major problems, but by the end of the night, the back of my knee was hurting. I hadn’t felt a pop like when I tore my PCL, but I was worried I’d wake up in massive pain from my knee.

That didn’t happen. Instead, my rib area was sore and I woke up at 2 a.m. with a severe bout of vomiting and diarrhea. Sweats, dizziness and the whole enchiladas. And my rib cage hurt. However, I’d also finished a jar of alfredo sauce that I had opened the week before, so I wasn’t sure what had made me sick – the pain or the sauce. And the dizziness could have also been a residual effect from the morning, when I somehow slammed the corner of a door into my eyebrow.

Let’s just say last Saturday wasn’t my day. I even had a low-grade fever and I wasn’t hungry and didn’t want to risk eating anything. So I was also completely fatigued but I wasn’t sure what was what. By Sunday, I was hungry again but my rib cage hurt like the Dickins and I was short of breath. I had some fake Tylenol PM and got some sleep, though.

Monday’s X-ray was negative so my rib is probably just bruised but more than a week later I’m still in pain. Hiccups and sneezing aren’t recommended, either. But there’s nothing that can be done so I’m just trying to stay comfortable.

I’ve been glad for the extra day of rest. I’ve had both dogs over after a late afternoon walk and then a movie. Jax was particularly into The Passion of the Christ but not so much Steel Magnolias.

I was happy Easter arrived because I gave up Cokes for Lent. Boy, that was rough but I stuck to it. I did cave and had two Sprites over the course of the 40 days, but one of those was Saturday when I was sick. I did pretty good and am going to try to stay off them for the most part. However, it was quite lovely Sunday night to finally be cable to open up a cold one.

Stop thief! Oh, the humanity!

 

Since I got the dog, I haven’t walked home much because I don’t want to walk for 1:20, get home at 6 and then take Zu for an hourlong walk. I’m mostly taking the shuttle home but on Fridays, if it’s not too hot or I’m not lugging a bunch of stuff home, I still like to walk.

It’s really a lovely walk, or most of it is, anyway. In my mind, it’s a video game that I’ve broken down into 10 levels, each with its own challenges. For example, leg 3 is the longest one – so long I break it down into three smaller sections – is beautiful but has people pushing or pulling carts through the potholed-filled roads, random zebu blocking the path and motorcycles or bicyclists passing and kicking out exhaust or up dust/mud.

Other challenges include a narrow bridge, traffic, hills and cobblestone roads.  At no point has “fear of being mugged” entered the picture. Until Friday.

My week was rough, and I looked forward to the walk and listening to Careless People by Sarah Wynn-Williams, which someone recommended. And I did enjoy it – through level 3, most of 4 and then 5. But 6 went sideways – I had my phone snatched!

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This is the book I was aborbed in.

Backing up, close to the end of 3, I walked past two guys. This is not unusual – I walk fast and there are lots of people, including kids getting off school. I say bonjour or salama to everyone, and everyone is friendly. And I didn’t think anything of passing the two guys.

A couple minutes later, they passed me. Again, not unusual – think of all the times this happens in cars. But then one slowed up and I passed him, and I remember thinking, “Hmm, I don’t like being between these two guys; I will slow down and let that one catch up.” And he did, so they were again together.

Then they slowed their pace slightly. At this point, I was coming up to level 4, which is where most people go left but I job right down a little hill and then wind around to the narrow bridge before hitting 5, which is the stretch between the airport road and the bridge – the big road I cross. I slowed some more, which was starting to get a little weird, as it seemed really slow. But at that point, I had a Spidey sense that something was off -  except I had no idea what to do with it.

Right where 3 switches to 4, I fully expected them to walk to the left. But they stopped completely – lighting up cigarettes (which not people do, incidentally) and I didn’t see that I had a choice but to keep going. I nodded to them as I passed --  bonjour – and kept going.

I tried to walk really fast, but I got caught behind parents with two small kids on the narrow bridge and I couldn’t pass, plus there were two people on bikes coming the other way, right before a guy with a giant sack of some sort. Basically, I couldn’t go fast. And I tried to check behind me to see if they’d turned, but I did not see anyone.

So, honestly, I forgot about it. I took a stop on the airport road to take a sip of water and turned down a narrow passageway, then exited to the cobblestone road that is level 7. Not five meters in, I suddenly heard footsteps and felt a bump.

I knew exactly what happened – someone grabbed my phone and took off. As it’s a little street, there were people everywhere and they started yelling and I took off after the guy – and so did they.

I am not fast, but they were. I ran back down the narrow passageway and to the road, where the guy was already 100 meters up. I was yelling STOP HIM! (in English, so not helpful) and others were also yelling, pointing and chasing.  This was pure Willie Nelson -Toby Keith justice, and, as people joined the chase, I honestly started worrying what would happen if they caught him.

He got to an intersection with a little road, and I could see other passers-by pointing where he was going, and about that time, a guy pulled up next to me on a motorcycle, asking what happened. It took a second to register it was a colleague, and then I pointed and said that guy had my phone.

So he took off, and I really have no doubt he saved the guy’s life. He told me later the crowd was wailing on him, and then a police officer (somehow) got him and was holding him but not making the crowd stop beating him up.

Eventually, the crowd helped me catch up to the cop and the perp, but another cop had my phone. (Seriously, I have never seen a patrolling cop, so I have no idea where they came from.) I was told I needed to go file a report, and I thought they meant in the police van. I went to the van and, lo and behold, the perp was also in the van. And I wasn’t giving a statement there; I had to go downtown.

Possibly that was the most surreal part of it – being in a police van, sitting in front of a guy who’d robbed me, lights on and all. And by “van,” think something probably minted in 1972, with no seatbelts, pretty much no upholstery (and certainly no A/C – the windows were open) and a sliding door that didn’t close. But hey, we had a light and a siren, not that one can generate speed on the roads of Tana.

In the van, looking at the guy, I realized he must have been one of the two I’d seen before. I asked him (in French) if he had been following me, but he didn’t respond. I did not tell the police about that suspicion, but filed a just-the-facts-ma’am report. Fortunately, my colleague didn’t listen to me when I said to not bother coming down to the police station with me and followed me to the police station. I hadn’t realized it was going to be the main one and assumed that it would be fairly nearby. Had he not followed me, I have no idea how I would have gotten home.

I did, of course, call out security team and reported it and all, and they offered to come give me a ride home, but my colleague had a motorcycle, meaning we’d get home at a reasonable hour. The traffic at that time of day is a complete standstill, so we weaved in and out and got home just before the rain.

I haven’t told too many people here, although I did run into the colleague who recommended the book and jokingly told her I’d gotten robbed and it was all her fault. (Mental note: when security says to not carry your cell phone in your backpack pockets or listen to headphones, listen to them!) But word gets out at a small post and I’m already being asked if I am OK.

And I am. I wasn’t mugged at knifepoint; it was the equivalent of a smash-and-grab. I’ve no idea how he did it so fast, really – I can’t pull the phone out of the pocket easily myself.

God looks out for me, and did, not only sending the colleague my way but through all the people who made sure the guy didn’t get away with it.  And, by my colleague’s estimate, it was over 100 people. They have no idea who I am, but they saw what he did and came to help.

The roads here

Although I bought a car before coming here, I don’t drive regularly. The most I’ve ventured is to the grocery store, which is less than two miles away, or, in desperation, to the kennel, which is near the airport. Both are equally terrifying to me. The roads are narrow with all kinds of obstacles in the way somehow – some of them living and breathing.

The grocery store is about five turns away, left out of my garage and then the drive, then a sharp (and blind) right up a giant hill. Then, there’s a left out of the apartment complex, thankfully assisted by the guard. But that’s where the scary begins, because the road doesn’t so much have lands or anything, plus there is always an assortment of people, vendors, motortaxis and such along the sides. This is in addition of it not really being wide enough for two cars to begin with, and that’s not counting the slight ditch on either side or the giant concrete thing that squishes two “lanes” into one.

But after that, as well as a bizarre right that’s sort of a cut through of a gas station with no real traffic pattern and a left at a pharmacy where three roads come together with no discernable right-of-way, it’s all downhill to the grocery store. I mean, there are taxi vans stopping in front of you all the time, people jumping out, random dogs and things like that, but the line of sight is good – at least until you arrive at the roundabout. If there are police there directing traffic, that’s always a mess, but if not, it runs more or less how it’s supposed to, although I’ll never enter one without saying a prayer and holding my breath.

Yesterday, it was a little scarier than usual because almost immediately after the roundabout, the grocery store is on the right. Since it’s a two-lane roundabout that feeds from a single lane, it’s a bit risky, and Friday morning there was a giant blue van sitting on the side of the road, out of traffic but getting ready to enter. I had to honk to make sure he didn’t run into me, but it was fine.

Honking isn’t impolite here, but mostly people, especially taxi van drivers, rely on a lot of (polite) hand signals. A wave outside the driver’s since window can either mean “I see you and I’m waiting on you to go,” “I see you and I acknowledge you’re there, but I’m going anyway” or “My turn, just hold on a sec.” No malice seems intended.

The kennel is a bit farther away but, after the initial downhill through a market (thankfully, one way, although there are way too many people there), a blind right turn and a much bigger roundabout, it’s less crowded and therefore not as bad. Well, unless it’s rush hour. Then, the turn out of the kennel road is a left and that’s never, ever done without a prayer.

So yeah, I drive as little as possible. We have a shuttle we can pay to take to and from work, and I have no problem letting a professional drive. Every day, I am reminded why I don’t drive.

It’s the rainy season, so the rains have compounded the issues with the roads, which are full of potholes on their best days. There are also little shops and such crowding the streets and people flooding the areas, making driving pretty heart-stopping.

The way itself isn’t more than 6-7 miles, but it can take an hour or more. Last rainy season, on a day I walked home in 1:20, it took the commuters three hours. There are only about four turns – one of them hairpin – but it’s a lot of winding on the overly-crowded road. Once we’re at the roundabout, though, there are two ways to go – the long way, or “Skinny Road.” The long way is the safe bet, but it takes forever because traffic is at a standstill before the next roundabout. After that, you’re home free, but getting there can take 20 minutes.

Skinny Road, OTOH, is a quicker route, but it’s also like a cut-rate Disney ride. It’s not paved, full of potholes and, well, skinny. When my colleagues take it, they tuck in their rearview mirrors so as not the dink them. One commented that every time he took the road, it took 10 years off his car’s life. Fortunately, it’s (mostly) one-way, although occasionally a motorcyclist or banana cart guy will buck the system and mess everything up. My fear is a flat tire – there’s nothing you can do.

Before deploying overseas, we have to take this week-long course that includes defensive – really defensive – driving, including how to get out of nightmare situations. This could mean ramming into a car to get away or jumping curbs. Well, on Skinny Road, neither is possible. The concept of curbs in general isn’t a thing here. It’s always a relief when you can see the end, although if there’s a car that’s going to try to go the other way, it’s going to be at that spot. But oh, to get off the pothole-y dirt road and back to pavement, no matter how potholed it is, is a relief.

Rain in the desert; chased by a rabid seal

Returned last week from a six-day safari in northern Namibia, a country that I still have trouble spelling. Due to horrific travel times, I was gone 10 days. Travel from here is really, really rough. Flight times are inconvenient and flights are often changed. I’d actually planned on departing November 9 and arriving the same day but had to leave November 8 to arrive the 9^th. The return flight was supposed to be leave Monday and get back Tuesday but changed and I had to leave on Sunday – the last day of the tour – to still arrive on Tuesday. That way was three flights (two hours, three hours, three hours) two layovers (five hours, sixteen hours) and a one-hour delay.

Quite randomly, killing time in the lounge before the last flight, I wound up sitting next to two people who were traveling together, man and a woman. The man was sitting next to me and was extremely nice. He’d get up and ask if he could get me anything and I told him I’d eaten and gave him my recommendations. Just friendly conversation.

Anyway, eventually I asked them where they were going. They said Tallahassee! There is no destination they could have said that could have surprised me more. Nor could they believe it was my hometown. Turned out they were professors from FAMU who had been at a symposium.

The long layover on the return wasn’t bad, but it was costly! Even though I’d been to Nairobi before, there was no way I was going to hang out in any airport that long (7 a.m. to 11 p.m.) and I arranged for a driver and set up a bespoke tour with Sensational Adventures. I hadn’t been to the park in the city before and took the opportunity, plus went to a glass-making factory and the museum that was the home of the “Out of Africa” lady. I haven’t read the book but have put it in my queue. It was on the list of things to do in the city, so I took the chance. It was nice.

But the Namibia tour – wow, how cool. It was worth the travel hassle. I joined a tour group that had 10 people in it. There was a pair and a trio and the rest were singles, so it was a good group. My roommate was one of the trio (the other two being her married uncles; they were from Mississippi) and she was very nice.

We spent two days in Etosha National Park, where we saw lions, giraffe, elephants and such. In the evenings, we stayed at places that had watering holes – not bars, but animal watering holes. It was like reality TV. When I visited, there were a bunch of rhinos, and I also saw a small herd of elephants headed to it.

In the park itself, there were multiple watering holes – several man-made and powered by solar – and it was fascinating to see the chess game of who and when. We drove up one time to see giraffe and springbok happily drinking in harmony when we caught a glimpse of a male lion approaching from far away. As he got closer, the other animals tensed notably and then hustled out of there. We watched him drink for awhile, then drove to another spot. We could see a herd of zebra patiently waiting on the lion to finish for their turn at the drinking fountain.

Later, we saw a solo lioness – at least that we could tell, although they normally hunt as a group – stalk and catch a springbok. We figured she had cubs somewhere but never saw them. There weren’t a whole lot of babies this time of year, but we did see some really tiny springbok and some young zebra. (Later, at the Nairobi park, I went to the elephant orphanage and saw some cuties, plus a toddler rhino.)

After the national park, we went to Sandwich Bay and did a beach dunes type of trip. We split up in 4Runners and I swear my driver was a bat out of hell. I have no idea why were in such a hurry but we were dodging seals, dead and alive, like no body’s business. At one point, a seal started chasing us. Bat Out of Hell said he was rabid and they’d reported him. I had no idea seals could get rabies, but that thing was Old Yeller crazy. It chased the truck. We did stop to watch some whales jumping as well as to view a dead baby whale carcass – which stunk to high heaven – before hitting the dunes. We stopped and met the other two 4Runners of us and had some snacks and took in the gorgeous view.

As we headed to the desert, the weather turned rainy. It is the rainy season, but it’s still not a normal thing and people were really happy. When we were driving through the little town where we stayed, we could see residents dancing in the street while the rain came down. In the little shops, the proprietors would say they were blessed because it was a little bit wet.

When we hit the dunes themselves, it turned out that we had to climb a giant one – Big Daddy, 325 meters high – in order to get down to a place with these ancient trees. Dear God, I hated that. I’m great walking for distance but incline is not my thing. My balance is awful and I was terrified – absolutely terrified – I would lose my balance and roll down the sand. And we’re talking three football fields high. We were basically walking along the spine of dunes, trying to get to Big Daddy. The view at the top was gorgeous, but I was so scared to stop on the way up and take pictures because I feared I’d lose my balance.

Finally, I got up there and just sat down and thanked God that I made it. I think I took pictures, but then I discovered that the “down,” while quicker, was basically straight down. The guy said “Just walk down normally, heels first.” Except heels first isn’t normal. The only other person going down at that point was slowing picking down sideways, which isn’t normal either. I tried to do the heels first thing and didn’t get it. The rained-upon sand was wet, making it header and all I could think about was losing my balance, tumbling down and tearing an ACL. Finally, I started crab-walking on my butt. While I was making progress, some guy from another group literally ran down, making it about ¾ of the way down before falling. At that point, I was thinking, yep, if that was me, that’d be a knee blowout right there.

So I kept going until a guide came and more or less showed me how to do it. It was harder in the wet sand (apparently) but I eventually got the hang of it, but holy hell, it was miserable. But the payoff was what was essentially a dried-up lake with trees that had been dead for 500 years. They were beautiful.  The whole thing reminded me of a movie; I kept picturing the trees with personalities and coming to life and attacking us.

Apparently Namibian locations have been used in several movies, including the recent Mad Max one and The Mummy. It really was beautiful.

Now I am back and it’s rainy season. At this point in the year, I think it’s rained more than it did all last rainy season. (It’s early in the season; it ends in March.) Since the shutdown is over, work has kicked in. Three projects going on plus a host of fires.

My next break isn’t until early January and I am hoping to make it.

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.