Back to the beasts

I have never followed the subject of politics as closely as I do now.
It started when Bush won eight years ago, then 9-11 happened. Ever since, monitoring the progress of American democracy has been like watching a gang of baboons let loose in a room full of priceless Sung porcelain. I watch transfixed with fascinated horror - can´t look away.

So onto dogs.
After Mass today, Estebanito was amused when I said that if we landed ourselves with any more dogs - we now have three - Reb and I were considering getting a couple of horses and starting to hunt foxes. The Moratinos Quorn.

It is extraordinary what a difference one dog makes. Two is a pair. Three is not so much a trio as a whole bleeding pack. Particularly as the new one, Mimi is an assertive little bitch and is involved in an intense but bloodless power struggle with Una for control over Tim and me. They roll and wrestle and snarl bloodcurdlingly, but, so far, it is only posturing.
Tim and I can only watch and wait apprehensively from the sidelines. Like with American politics.

On the Camino with them this morning, a pilgrim lady asked me, ´Do the dogs belong to you?´ ´No,´I said, ´Í belong to the
dogs.´

Still on dogs, I told my friend Anselmo this joke in Spanish the other day and he understood it, so I must be improving a bit.

A man walks into a pub. At the bar a man is sitting with a dog beside him. ´Does your dog bite?´asks the first man. ´No,´says the man at the bar. So the newcomer reaches down to pet the dog, which bites him. ´You said your dog didn´t bite,´ he complains. ´That´s not my dog,´ says the man at the bar.