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Destinations, Dreams and Dogs - International adventure with a fast-track family (& dogs) of Old World values, adopting the Russian-Italian-American good life on the go…!

My Babies (The Dogs) Missed Me

Scotties Misha and Grisha are undoubtedly my babies. Bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh—well, not exactly, but I don’t see how they could fit any better into this family.

Since I was away from them for a week, it’s been rough: separation anxiety times two. I’m not sure if it was harder on them, or on me.

Probably me.

They’re so special. Their love is as close to the Divine as possible—accepting, robust, full-force, transformational. They change me and make me into a better person. Their nose nudges are met with willingly-pilfered-and-proffered tidbits, handouts, choice treats theirs for the taking.

These guys melt my heart.

In my absence, I heard it reported that Misha laid down in my bedroom’s doorway, languishing and pining away for his mama. His melancholy was only matched by the depth of his emotions. Grisha, on the other hand, the ever happy-go-lucky one, was simply thrilled by the fact that Benedetto knew when to feed them.

They came with the others to the airport to welcome us home. The two chose to stay in the car and wait patiently for our arrival, rather than possibly be mistaken as service dogs and taken into custody for the border patrol. Misha and Grisha do not like to wear uniforms, but do enjoy sniffing people’s things, so the jury is out on whether or not they would be suited to such a job. Meanwhile, they enjoyed sleeping in the car and dreaming of Petya’s and my arrival.

Reunited in the parking garage, their wagging tails indicated unbridled delight. After Benedetto, it was our first son and I who were closest to the dogs, having been with them since puppyhood. The Scotties knew we were part of their pack, while I convinced myself that they were part of ours.

“Misha, did you miss me?” I patted my bearded baby and scratched him all over, joyful tail going a mile a minute.

“Grisha, were you a good boy?” He nodded his head in response, ever eager to please.

During the whole, three-hour drive home (of course we couldn’t originate in our own major metropolitan area with three international airports of our own, that would be too simple), Misha plunks down on top of me, sighing, moaning, letting out puffs of air as if to say, “All is well.” Grisha does the same on top of Petya’s lap, content in the knowledge that we are all together again, and life is right. The big guys hold onto us, late into the night, and we hold onto them.

I come home and pass out from sleeping all of one hour or so over several continents and the course of 24 hours. Plus, the day before we left from abroad, we logged one hour’s sleep the night before leaving. There were definite deficits to deal with.

In the middle of the night, I hear someone plunk down at my feet, and there is Misha, lumbering in to find his place of contentment. Several hours later, Grisha’s harness tags jingle near the bedroom door as he peeks in to make sure we’re there.

No, it’s not a dream: we’re all together, safe and sound. Life is good.

(I’ll get to the people next….)


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