The Final Report

Sometimes when Delora listens to people talking fast in Spanish she is like the animal in the Far Side comic picking out a few select words: blah,blah,blah,blah,blah, GOOD BOY!

This is how Delora listens to her Pet Detective and her interpretor at their final meeting.  They sit in a cramped office, like William Hurt's in the movie Body Heat, amidst stacks of papers and mementos crowding every surface. He is polite, professional, and deferential when offering a beautifully typed, albeit thin, report on his best paper stock. Delora pretends to follow along as he reads each hand-stamped page.

With the saddest possible face, he reports that Thunder is most probably not dead, blah, blah, since very reliable records are kept in the city of Madrid regarding animals that have been injured or killed. He confirms the area he has searched, blah, blah.  He is sorry that he hasn't been able to find Thunder. After all, he too, is the owner of a miniature dachshund, blah,blah. THEN, Delora hears the one Spanish word that peaks her interest:  blah, blah, FINCA, blah, blah!

Que?  Delora perks up.  Por Favor, una finca?  Then, blah,blah our PD explains that he believes that Thunder Perkins is probably living happily on a finca somewhere outside of Madrid! Delora's heart skips as she realizes that she has been duped by, quite possibly, the smartest male dauschund on the planet.  Here she is, like William Hurt in that second to last scene in Body Heat, realizing that Kathleen Turner didn't actually die in the fire! She had planned to dupe him all along!  Delora flashes back to a few clues from Thunder, the canine Kathleen Turner, and now it all makes sense: Thunder's guilty look that final day together on the couch; the chicken left in his bowl signaling his loss of appetite, or a diet designed to enable slipping out of a harness; ears perked with interest at the mention of an invitation to a finca!  Now it all makes sense.

Delora recalls friends who had, in the past, smirked a little when Delora reported signs of Thunder's high intelligence.  But what dog of average intelligence manages to escape from a harness and get himself furloughed to a finca outside of a city he's never liked?  What dog with less than a gargantuan IQ manages to plot an escape from a Chica he dislikes?  Other humans have underestimated Thunder for years, but not Delora.  She alone realizes that Thunder Perkins has figured out a way to get to a finca, before Delora herself has!

Delora can barely keep it together as she politely thanks the PD and gathers her things.  Delora smells a rat.

Thunder's Cost Justification Analysis

Delora thinks back to her salad days in New York City selling computers at IBM.  She remembers spending months of rigorous training at IBM school in Atlanta.  Besides dancing nightly at the Lime Light, she remembers learning everything she could about computer components, accounting and how to cost justify just about ANYTHING!  Cost justification at IBM, of course, was all about how to save people money doing things they could do faster (and cheaper) with computers.  Overtime, Delora has modified the meaning of cost justification.  Now she uses this skill to justify spending more money, when alot has already been spent.


With Thunder missing, there is an unspoken question in Delora's household.  The question is:  How much dinero will Delora and her husband spend to find their lost dog?  Delora ponders the variables. She acknowledges that if she had lost a TIMEX watch, with no emotional value, for example, it would be cheaper and easier to buy a new one for $79 than it would be to place an ad and hire a private detective.  Then Delora thinks about how much she would spend if she lost her nice Grandmother.  Then, there would be no stone unturned, no expense spared to find her, right?

Thunder's cost justification analysis falls somewhere in the middle...

It starts like this:

Puppy ($900)

Then you add this:

Photograph: Peter Macdiarmid/Getty Images

8 years of medical care from Paul Newman's homeopathic Veteranarian - $$$

And this:

Playmate for Thunder

And this:

8 years of Organic food from Paul Newman's homeopathic Veterinarian -  $$$

And this:

Quarterly dental scrapings from the Homeopathic Veterinarian's

 dog whisperer from California who can clean teeth and improve dog breath without anesthesia.

And this:

Inevitable Dental work with general anesthesia to remove a few teeth - $$$

And this:

Dog Trainer to teach dogs how to sit after 3 months of weekly lessons - $$$

And this:

Halloween costumes - 2006

And these:

Accessories

And this:

Sportswear to commemorate World Series Win (t-shirts, home and away colors, scarves, etc.) -

And one of these: 

Flight to Spain - $


With these sunken costs, Delora believes she can properly cost justify one more ad in the paper!

From Pet Psychic to Pet Detective...

If you thought we were crazy to listen to two pet psychics, what will you think of our hiring a pet detective?  I  justify our decision by paraphrasing Donald Rumsfeld: we need more troops on the ground! Time is of the essence and we're losing this war against the dognapper.  The bottom line is this: what if Thunder has developed Stockholm's syndrome with his dognapper?  What if he's developed an affinity for the ole grey haired lady and forgotten all about his human birth mother?

Enter the pet detective, a person to follow up on the ambiguous clues left by the pet psychic!  Searching the streets of Madrid for a stone framed wood door, etc., is a full time job.  AND, (paraphrasing Kim in Bye, Bye Birdie) I've got a lotta livin' to do!  Thanks to El Crisis Economique there are a handful of detectives in this city, men who wouldn't have dreamed of looking for a missing canine 2 years ago, who are now willing to switch from tracking errant husbands to tracking missing dogs in exchange for some Euros.  And why not?  Our wise Detective agrees, someone has rescued our dog and decided to keep the little guy. He hasn't surfaced at any of the city's many dog pounds, nor at the police stations, nor at the Vets' offices, nor at the (ahem) dog morgue.  SO... pet detective it is!

In order to cover all the bases we have launched a two-pronged search and rescue mission (paraphasing Rumsfeld or Guiliani...or some other important person in charge of things) to find Thunder.  Here's the ad in the local paper...

See Thunder above to the right? He kind of looks like the dog version of the attorney above and to the left of his ad, doesn't he?

We have not yet begun to fight! 

(Civil war quote? Shoot, who said this? Too lazy to source this quote and too old to remember...Ok...I felt guilty for being too lazy to google a quote... and it's a way to waste some time so that I can't possibly study my Spanish. It's from John Paul Jones to the British during the Revolutionary War.)

ANOTHER Pet Psychic weighs in...

This pet psychic is Chip's sister's friend.  She's based in NY:


Thunder is east/northeast from the last place where he was seen.  You have to go twice as far as you think you do.  He isn't worried, he just wonders why you are taking so long to come get him.  He doesn't think he's lost.  There is another animal in the house who has a chip, he may have a new chip, go twice as far in the ENE direction and call vets in that area to find out about chips put in since Christmas.  The door he goes in and out of is wood the house is stone; the door frame is stone- not cobble shaped, either flat blocks or large rectangular pieces.  There is an arch shaped piece on top .  He's fine, just waiting for you.  


We'll be looking again tomorrow...wood door... stone door frame... Thun-der!

Exploring My Inner Heroes

[Spoiler alert:  If you have not watched HEROES Season 1 yet (fool), you may want to wait to read this riveting post...]

When you live in Spain and can't turn on the TV because it's way, way too time consuming to figure out how to use anything from Telfonica, the most poorly run company on the planet (the same company that Thunder Perkins ... moment of silence ... could have run better than the current CEO),  you compensate by spending vast sums of money downloading Heroes -- Seasons 1 through 4 -- for about 60 dollars per season, even though you know that it sells at BJs for 39 cents.  Thanks itunes.

And when you have the flu and Dr. Juan (or Jose) McDreamy, your Spanish house-call Doctor, has almost cured you, but you're still bedridden, you can watch 500 hours of Heroes in a row.  If you're not familiar with the show, here's the premise: sometimes ordinary people have a gene mutation (Darwin, blah, blah) and they develop super powers.  One person can fly; one can zap people with electricity from her hands.  You get the idea.  Some powers are sort of useless. No thank you to the ability to breathe under water, for example. Yet some powers are pretty fantastic. Beware, I've "heard" that when you watch many episodes in a row, this starts to happen:

1. You start to believe that you just might have a super power developing yourself.  After all, sometimes they develop in adults, and they're not always obvious -- such as the ability to control people like a puppeteer, for example.

2. If your power hasn't fully developed YET, you spend an inordinate amount of time wondering which power you would use if you were indeed developing powers, as you think you secretly might be.

Here's an example of a little game I play with myself.  Let's just say, my chica loses my dog. I ask myself: which superpower would I use to fix this problem?  Flying doesn't really help, although it might be useful after the fact. But the answer is obvious, right? It would be Hiro's abilty to time travel.  Why? Because then I could travel back to the moment when that sneaky Chica was about to tie Thunder to the post and grab him.

Another example.  Kids won't fill out essays the way you think they should be filled out for boarding schools.  Which power? YES: Matt Parkman's ability to perform mind control!  You wouldn't even have to say out loud that writing an essay about wanting to be in the Peace Corps would be better than an essay about wanting to be a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader, for example.  You could just think it.  Better yet, you could forget about all those time consuming applications and mind control the admissions committee into admitting your kids (for free!) because they're so smart and creative and hold the secrets to the future in their hands (I'm trying out my mind control powers right now, Admissions people).


Here's my final example for today, but don't blame me if you want to try this game yourself.  Ok, let's say you're in a foreign country and you need to learn a language, um, say Spanish.  Remember that cute little red-headed waitress with the ability to learn everything she's read, including languages?  Bingo!  Yes, yes, I know she ends up with a brain tumor from the extra workload, but I'll limit my learning to Spanish. And just to be safe, I'm carrying a pack of tissues in case my power turns out to be mind control.  Poor Matt Parkman gets a nose bleed every time he has to control someone who is really stubborn. With these kids, I'm gonna need a bunch of tissues.

Day 25...

You all have been so great about checking on Thunder's whereabouts...and I wanted, so badly, to have a happy ending to the story of our lost dog in Madrid.  I still hope for a happy ending, but I have mentally turned a corner here. My days of roaming the streets with a fist full of posters are dwindling.  I still yell "Thunder" into any recessed, arched alleyway surrounded by vegetation.  People still stare, startled, like they do at someone with Tourette's, but I don't care.  I've started intensive Spanish lessons again, so I have enough stress in my life.

And I'm waiting... just waiting.

For what, you ask?  For that day when I'm walking down the street and I see my Thunder with someone who has never taken him to the vet to check for a chip, nor called the police, nor checked with the dog shelters to see if their new dog was someone else's.  When that day comes, I will be ready.  I will take that person DOWN like Angelina Jolie in Tomb Raider, kicking butt and taking names!  I will execute a kick turn, stunning the dog-knapper, and if I need to, I will twist his or her arms, and karate chop(!)... unless, of course, it's a grey-haired old woman, in which case, I will be careful not to knock her over.  Instead, I will use the formal "Usted" conjugation in Spanish and will say, "Perdona" respectfully, but will then, nevertheless, grab Thunder gently and jog away without incident.

Either way, I will yell: POLICIA!  I will have my forensic evidence ready (Thunder's hair on my tape lint brush.) I will have my chip scanner in my purse with Thunder's papers and, after many more Spanish lessons, I will know how to explain it all to the authorities in Spanish...

Look Up Thunder!

If you're going for a walk in the evening, you'll notice that there are different Christmas lights strung across many of the streets in Madrid.  Do you notice lights on the grey/blond woman's street? What do they look like?

Here are some examples:

These are on Velasquez

These are on Lagasca

Jorge Juan

Ortega y Gasset

Send me a sign boy dog (through the Pet Psychic) and I will continue to look for you...

Karma Cleansers please...

Changing your karma from bad to good is much more complicated than I thought.  Of course, you can be pure of thought and deed for all of your life, and all of your past lives.  Um-hmmm.  But what to do if you, or some previous incarnation of you, screwed up along the way?  That is surely the case with Delora at this moment in time.  First, it was a lost son, then it was lots of little things leading up to a lost dog.  Within a day of the lost dog, a certain son was admitted to the hospital after a bad ski accident.  I'll spare you all the whiny details, but something is wrong I tell you!  Something is way, way wrong.

As I wait to hear more from Thunder and from Pet Psychic #2,  I wonder if there isn't something I can do to change my karmic path. Short on time, I do what everyone in need of a quick karmic change does:  I google "How to change your karma from bad to good."  I need something black and white, cut and dry. I could burn sage leaves, for example, or light a red candle.  (WHY, oh why, didn't I pay attention to that Feng Shui lecture I attended a few years ago?)  But if you're hoping for a quick google fix, you're in for a rude awakening.  Most websites offer a metaphysical analysis that requires several lifetimes just to read and digest.  Who knows what else will happen to us by then? Plus I can't change what the spirit currently inhabiting the body of Deb Perkins did in 1820.

Some of you (and you know who you are...) have invested a good amount of time reading about this stuff, so could you please send me the Cliff Notes?

NAMASTE...

Pet Psychic CSI

(Thunder and Lucia take a bike ride in happier times)

Walking the streets of Madrid gives me plenty of time to analyze every message from the "spirit in the dog body known to Deb Perkins as Thunder"and I must say, there are some holes in the communication.
First, the "grey haired lady with bright eyes" doesn't seem to exist.  OK, maybe one woman, somewhere, a real carrot-eater, has grey hair and bright eyes, but I haven't seen her yet.


But -- bear with me for a minute -- what if the lady's hair isn't really grey?  I mean, I've already been warned that my pet may not be able to distinguish beige from white.  What if, he can't tell the difference between grey and BLOND?  Luckily, there are fewer blonds in Spain, than say, in Sweden, and most of them are highlighted.  This could change my whole dog finding strategy.  Maybe I go from chasing the grey-hairs curb-side, to making salon visits to places that specialize in blonding.  Below, my sister sends evidence to support the blond woman theory...

Dogs are not color blind - they see color, but their chromatic acuity is significantly less than humans'. This is for two reasons: (1) dogs have far fewer cone cells in their retina (cone cells are responsible for seeing color); and (2) dogs are dichromatic (they see only two primary colors - blue and yellow) whereas humans are trichromatic, meaning we see three primary colors - red, blue, and yellow.  Humans have 7 times higher proportion of cone cells than dogs, meaning that when dogs do see colors, they are pale or faded. 


Another issue with "Thunder's" explanation of his whereabouts on the night of December 23rd: he confirms that he was indeed spotted 4 blocks from my home on the night in question and then he ran for an hour before settling down to rest. Yet, still, he is only 2 blocks northeast of my apartment?  I could crawl for an hour and I'd still be a mile or two away, right?  Does this make any sense?  


Look, spirit of Thunder, if you're smart enough to know that your presence in the Grey-haired (or blond) woman's life has opened her up to allowing more people in her life  -- and trust me, you are the smartest, zen dog I know -- then can you please send me a more accurate picture of where the %^& you are?  
Here's another idea: This time of year, each street in Madrid has it's own unique set of Christmas lights.  I assume you don't read Spanish (neither can I, btw...), and can't read a street sign, so perhaps you could tell me about the Christmas lights on your street.  


I will (cha-ching) get back in touch with the pet psychic to refine her vision a bit.  So could you give her something a bit more concrete: a park where the grey/blond woman takes you, a restaurant near by, a metro station, a landmark of some sort... I'm getting a reputation in the hood.  The gyp-sies (always pronounced as in Borat), beggars and homeless all know me by name and promise that they will find my perrito!  Then they wink at each other and chuckle at the crazy American with the fist full of reward posters.

Brother can you spare a dog?

I'll admit, I'm a pet psychic's worst nightmare.  First, I'm so grateful to hear from the spirit of the animal known to Deb Perkins as Thunder, that I'm psychically kissing the psychic's feet.  She provides me with details of where to find my lost dog: a grey-haired woman with bright eyes; a recessed door in an alley way with plants (a plant?); Northeast by 2 blocks; a slight incline.  The psychic suggests we meditate, then send Thunder positive messages before we leave to look for him.  On the street, we should call to him and listen for his bark!  What more could a bereft dog owner ask for?  I picture our reunion.  I'll be yelling Thun-der, and I'll hear his arf! arf!  and I'll go straight to the door with the plant next to it.  I'll knock and the Grey-haired lady will become like a Spanish grandmother to us and the dogs forever and ever, amen. I sleep soundly for the first time in a week.

Then the looking begins.  Joyfully, we set off in two groups searching the area where our Thunder awaits.  We've been told the grey-haired lady is sociable and that we should talk to as many people as possible.  I figure the grey-haired lady probably speaks to other grey-haired ladies and they become our focus group.

We start asking every grey-hair we meet if they've seen our dog.  Most are not bright eyed, in fact, most members of our focus group are vision-impaired and squint to see the poster we hold in front of them.  Many are wearing hearing aids and respond with the Spanish equivalent of eh?  But the most common response we get is a frightened look, a widening of the eyes and a backing away from us as though we're about to rob them of their last euro.  We're not exactly a frightening looking bunch, yet we instill fear in almost every older person we canvas. We loose a tiny bit of hope when a couple of grey-haired nuns point to the sky and callously suggest that there are more important things than lost dogs. NUNS!

As the day wears on and the city sounds drown out everything and I can barely hear what my children are saying next to me, my pretty picture starts to dissolve in front of me.  Imagine standing in the middle of Times Square in NYC and calling Thun-der!  Imagine listening for his bark.  It's assinine.  We reach a spiritual low when Lucia, Sam and I find a building inset from the street and cleverly catch the door as a resident leaves.  We figure we'll leave some posters and the grey-haired lady will see them and give us a jingle. Instead, we learn that some Spanish apartment buildings trap you on the inside requiring a key or a code to get out.  After 15 minutes of entrapment I mentally channel the spirit of Thunder and say: Thun! Address please!

I apologize pet psychic.  My faith lapsed just a little bit today.  Here you are giving me direction and here I am wondering if maybe two pet psychics would be better than one.  Or maybe three would be better than two.  Maybe we could cross check the facts just a tiny bit.  But tomorrow is another day. Another chance to be treated like a beggar, another chance to find that magical alley way with the little plant in front of the door where the grey-haired lady is comforting our lost dog.

The Pet Psychic Responds!

Here is what she writes (verbatim):

When you go to look for him, I got the sense that to talk to as many people as possible within a 2 block area from where you live, he says he's not far.  He's not being kept a captive, but apparently the person has no idea what to do or how to find you.  My thoughts and prayers are with you both.  Stay as calm as possible and send loving thoughts to Thunder and before you go out to look for him send him a message in your mind - Thunder ok we're coming out to look for you now, and we're going to ________ and _______ and we'll be calling your name etc.

Let me know when he's back with you.

Blessings
Suzi

here is what he wanted to say - what he gave me is in italics - he described it as best he could:  

“Yes my soul essence is still within the physical dog body known to Deb Perkins as Thunder. Yes the heart is beating and pumping blood throughout the physical dog body and the lungs are receiving air as you are talking with me now.  No I’m not physically injured, the pads of my feet are a bit scraped up but other than that I’m ok.  Yes I am with a human, who took me in.  Yes I am safe and she is taking good care of me and is trying to find where I belong.  Yes both of those sightings were of me and I ran for about another hour or so and then was exhausted.  I curled up in a doorway and slept.  (this doorway was on the right side of the street and it feels like it’s on an incline, not steep, but can feel the slant of the street)  When it got light I started to retrace my steps but it got too busy with people and needed to hide.  (I see him going left into a smaller path, not a street, not an alley because I don’t see cars, do they have walkways between buildings that might be like an alley without cars?)  I walked for a few minutes and this woman was bending over tending to a plant and I sat and watched her.  She turned around and saw me and I could tell that she was kind and gentle.  I started towards her and she opened her door for me to come inside.  She gave me some food and water and I fell sound asleep again.  (this woman’s house is on the right side of this pathway, the door is inset from the street, looks like an archway from what Thunder is showing me) 

No I am not far from the house I can feel it.  I was too tired and hungry to go on any further and that’s why I went to this woman because I knew she would help me.  Yes I’m within 2 blocks North and slightly east of our house.

Yes of course this woman will cooperate and give me back.  She doesn’t know anyone is looking for me.  Yes I can find my way back if I go outside by myself, however that hasn’t happened yet.  It would be easier if you can come and get me.  I realize there are many houses that might look alike to you.  This woman has grey hair, wears it back in behind her head, is medium height, slightly over weight, but not fat, has a very pleasant face and shining eyes.  Yes she lives alone because there is no one else here.  Yes if you called out to me and you were close I can bark and you could hear me most likely.  I make her think of times when she had someone around and it felt good, now she is considering having someone in her life again.  So this has been good for her.

And yes, I do not like the housekeeper, she has a side to her that you have not seen yet.  I prefer never to go for a walk with her again, I am fine being with you.  Yes I look forward to you coming and getting me.  Yes this woman is quite sociable and well known around here so it will be easy for you to talk with people and they will connect you with her.  I’m here waiting and I love you.”

AND SO...we will be looking for the grey haired woman who has taken in our beloved boy dog tomorrow when we are back in Madrid.  Love and Happy New Year to you all!  We'll keep you posted...Delora

The Pet Psychic

My sister recommends that we call the renowned pet psychic, Joy Carroll, to enlist her help in finding Thunder.  She senses my East Coast reaction and explains...I know, I know, sounds kooky.  But she tells a compelling story about some very sane friends of hers who were missing their cat for 4 days when they were persuaded to call Joy.  Joy instructed them to think of a place where the cat could meet them and she would transfer the information to the cat psychically. Yup, my sister says, that very afternoon the cat met them at their meeting place.

That`s great, I`m thinking, but what are the limitations of where I can tell Thunder to meet me?  The above mentioned cat was around Venice, California and met his owners in a special box they leave outside to trap wild animals.  We live in an apartment building in Madrid and a miniature dachshund can`t exactly reach up and ring the buzzer.  Besides, we`re in Switzerland now.  Can she send instructions to take Iberian Airlines flight 629 to Geneva?  Then, just as I`m getting used to the idea of having a pet psychic in my life, I get the bad news from my sister that Joy Carroll, the famous cat finder, is on vacation anyway.  Luckily though, Joy has left a back-up psychic`s name.

The back-up psychic won`t site statistics about the percentage of pets she`s found historically, but does state that she specializes in lost dogs, cats, horses(?), gunea pigs and snakes.  Her website instructs us to fill out a form about when and where Thunder was lost, and to give her any details we can, so that she can locate the spirit of our dog. She also instructs us on how to use Paypal.  She will ask the spirit if the body is working, whether the heart is pumping blood, whether there is any injury.  She will ask the spirit nicely if, in fact, it is still inhabiting the body.  (Can you think of a more delicate way to phrase that "condition" when the spirit no longer occupies the body???)

If the spirit is, ahem, still occupying the body, she will be happy to ask the animal for details about where it is.  She warns that the animal`s perceptions and use of language may not be completely accurate, but she will do her best to describe, as she is told, what the dog`s surroundings look like, whether he is with anyone, what the place looks like, etc.  She warns that if the dog says he is in a white room, it may actually be tan or beige.  Again, she cannot be responsible if our pet can`t tell white from beige.  She also warns that we have to take the dog`s sightline into account.  We have to see things from his vantage point. This is unfortunate, since Thunder is about 5 inches off the ground.  I imagine one of us pulling the children on their bellies on a little device with wheels through the streets of Madrid looking for a beige or a white door. I wonder if there is an extra cost for translating, through the spirit, any Spanish words.

No matter, we`re filling out the form tonight, and looking forward to conversing with our pet`s spirit (and hopefully, his uninjured body) and will keep you posted when he gets in touch.

Thunder

No pet has been better loved than our canine son, Thunder.  Of course, we try to love our pets unconditionally, but this 8 year old dog/child of ours has meant more than we could ever have imagined before having pets.  He is the most empathetic, wise, old soul of a dog that we have ever encountered.  No offense humans, but that canine has more sense in his little paw than most homosapiens we know. So it is with the greatest sadness that I tell you that Thunder has been missing since 8:00 PM on December 23rd.

On that evening, our Chica, using the poorest possible judgement, tried to multitask and do a few errands while walking the dogs.  She tied Thunder and Roxie to a post outside the very busy La Paz market and when she returned, Thunder was gone.  We got a call at almost 9pm that night while dining at a friend`s house.  Within minutes, we were searching the rainy streets of Madrid in four groups with Maria and her mother rounding out our search party.  We were scheduled to leave for Switzerland at 7 AM, ten hours after receiving that phone call, and still weren`t packed. Hours later, having found two people who had spotted Thunder running through the streets, we regrouped to figure out a plan. 

With non-refundable tickets, and the sense that 5 people would be no more useful than one, it was decided that Chip and the kids would fly to Geneva and I would stay to put up posters with Maria.  Reports were filed with the police and a poster was made of Thunder, looking his finest, offering a 500 euro reward. And now, the hard part.  We wait. 

The Spanish are kind-hearted dog lovers.  They treat their pets fantastically and appreciate love for a pet. Several passersby were nearly moved to tears when they saw us putting up the posters; several offered to assist.  We thought the reward money would bring Thunder back more quickly during a holiday when everything closes.  But in every population, reward money can bring out the devil. 

Now we find ourselves in a canine version of the movies Ransom and The Changling -- where Angelina Jolie loses her son, then the police return a boy that looks close, but isn`t hers. We`ve received a dubious phone call from a man that couldn`t answer any questions about Thunder, but swears his brother has him three hours outside Madrid. He offers to drive the distance, then meet to exchange the dog for the money.  Maria explains that Thunder has a chip embedded in his soulder with an ID number and as soon as they take him to a vet and scan the number, we will be thrilled to make the exchange.  When the caller hears this, he loses his enthusiasm.  Oh, he claims, it isn`t about the money...it`s because it`s Christmas... he says he`ll call  us back, but doesn`t. 

Please, please, let this be the time that some kind-hearted person has rescued Thunder from that rainy night; that the lovely person has a hunch that Thunder might like a smoked almond and a piece of a clementine while being petted all night; that this angel has waited until Monday to take the dog to the proper autorities because everything has been closed.  Let Thunder think that he has been away at a dog spa and that we`ll be picking him up any minute...

Our Irish Twins

You may know that we have teenaged triplets; you might not know that we have Irish twins.  Lucia, Clark and Sam's brotha-from-another-motha, Thunder (8),  and their sista-from-another-mista, Roxie (7), are a mere 11 months apart.  Roxie, our long-haired, blond miniature dachshund and Thunder, our Mensa-card-carrying black and tan, have been in Madrid for a couple weeks now and are definitely showing signs of culture shock. Actually, our canine children are exhibiting the very same behavior that Lucia, Clark, and Sam did when we first arrived in this country (and still do on occasion.)

Mood Swings: There's a lot of anger brewing under that fur.  Roxie, always an even-tempered squirrel chaser, finds herself in the squirrel-free city of Madrid.  She lashes out by barking incessantly at other neighborhood dogs whenever they try to welcome her to the hood. Barking loudly at bugs, traffic noises filtering in through the windows and wind has replaced her squirrel games. Thunder, our much more cerebral pet, has retreated into a moody passive-aggressive world of his own. Always a rule follower, he now refuses to sit on command.

Anti-social behavior:  We've raised our dogs in the same way that Dr. Skinner, the famous child psychologist, raised his daughter -- in a box. Our box was bigger, of course, by a few acres, but still, R and T haven't socialized much with their own kind.  In Madrid, where the humans greet strangers with a kiss on each cheek, the canines are, naturally, more open and friendly as well. Our twins are expected to be gracious with the neighborhood dogs who have different boundaries, different customs and speak a whole different language.  One woman, who thought that Roxie (and her parents) couldn't understand her, actually called her "gorda" -- fat!  Now Roxie will only play with Thunder (see "lethargy" below) or a rubber, bikini-wearing chicken we found in the hood.

Lethargy:  If Thunder could, he'd insert a canine catheter and demand his meals on a tray. He doesn't display any of the joie de vivre or quick witted repartee that was once his trademark. Instead, he elects to climb to the top of the tallest chair in the room and curl into a ball remembering good times in Connecticut - or - lick himself from dawn until dusk.


Ah, culture shock.  It's not fun when the kids lash out about the move, but we expected that.  We didn't expect our twins to have such a similar reaction.