Reunited

Dale here:

I haven´t posted in a while because I was away in Spain (yes, yes, they do have the "internets" in Spain, but somehow I felt a little guilty posting to my blog from the National Library, which was the only place where I could get free wifi). And while I would love to recount exciting tales of Iberian adventures, the truth is I spent most of my non-archival time in Spain sitting and sadly staring at other people's dogs. Occasionally attempting to pat them, but it Spanish dog etiquette is very different; as I realized after a few dirty looks, asking to pat another person's dog in Spain is about equivalent to asking to touch their husband. Frowned upon, except for a few very swingin' communities. Sancha dearest was at my mother's, in Los Angeles. Then when I got back to New York there was a whole 4 days while I attempted to wrest Sancha from her grandmother's clutches. By the time she flew in (yes, by herself--big props to the Continental PetSafe program) to Newark Airport, I had been dogless, and much worse, Sanchaless, for a month and a half. I would describe the scene at the airport, but I think a video is worth a thousand words. It was like this: