On this trip to Americaland, I'm staying with my parents. When I arrived Wednesday, it wasn't safe to bring my dog from her temporary home at my brother's until after the wedding shower my mom was hosting Saturday afternoon (she hyperventilated when we made tracks in the carpet), but as soon as the coast was clear I grabbed Lulu.
In Zambia, dogs are for protection. Even at the Peace Corps house, where the staff is well used to the crazy ways of foreigners, Ester clucks at the way we talk to Sophie like a person and let her nap on the chairs. What would she say if she'd seen me last night, sleeping with a dog's head nestled in my armpit?