The guilt of survival. Human suffering and innocent puppy love. Haven't posted in so long..better start close to home, softly.
A copy of the latest message on my long, confusing list of outgoing e-mails to the Caribbean:
So sad about the chaotic situation in Haiti. Hope the box arrived in SJU yesterday as scheduled and made it onto the DHL flight. Please let me know if there is a problem.
Did A. tell you that we got a puppy? He is a white puppy with black nose and eyes, a European Golden Retriever with coloring called "English Cream." My sister protested (she left last Thursday, but was still here when we picked him up) and immediately compared his color to Bailey's Irish Cream instead.
"Look, he has that dark golden edge to his creaminess," she said. And we all had to agree: He’s definitely more edgy Irish whiskey liqueur than clotted English cream.
After that, the name kind of stuck, although A. really wanted him to be "Prince Beowulf," and Aa. wanted him to be "Mini-Cooper." But in the end, he got a female name.
At 8 weeks, Bailey looks like a small fluffy yarn ball with unproportionally big, flappy ears, droopy sad puppy eyes and long, long white eyelashes. I have never seen anything as cute, or as love-starved and trusting for that matter--he's chasing after the cats right now, trying to lick them and snuggle with them, but they keep hissing and batting at him. I hope they don't scratch his eyes out. I'll have to hold them in my lap for awhile now and let him sniff them and be next to them or there will be no end to the whining and crying. Nothing as sad-eyed as a rejected, love-struck puppy.
Talk to you soon.