There's a lot to tell about our dog Levon's journey across the water, but I'll leave that for Geoff, who suffered the worst of it. I don't, however, think I'll ever forget the image of him inside his crate,coming toward us on the prongs of a forklift.
He seems to be adapting well, if tentatively, to Spanish life. The mornings with tennis ball on the deserted beach near our house, and the chunks of Asturian beef we guiltily slip him, only help.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment