Parked the car in the parking lot and saw two enormous iguanas scramble out under the fence, running for dear life. The facility is located in a mildly wooded area, so I guess it shouldn't have come as a huge surprise. But even so: wild iguanas aren't something that gets on my radar screen much. I admired their disappearance and headed in.
Said hello as I walked to the window area by the front desk that overlooks the doggie pool. Clarabelle was there with about eight other dogs, among them a bull terrier puppy, as well as the prettiest dog I've seen in a long time: jet black, with a shepherd-type face and ears, medium-length hair, all on a finely built, border-collie type body. Gorgeous.
But I didn't get much time to watch Clarabelle frolic. Just as I set up to watch her, she stopped dead in her tracks and looked out otoward the parking lot. She couldn't see it, as there's a big wooden fence there, but she moved toward the fence and lifted her head excitedly, scenting the air. Then she turned and trotted to the window, searching it, until she found me; she then leapt up and bounced against the window with her front paws, and grinned and waved her tail excitedly. She'd smelled me! I was very touched.
It took them a good 25 minutes to prep her for her departure - she came to me dry as a bone, and wearing a complimentary DeVarona bandana. I'd have taken her wet and bandana-less in order to be done quicker, but what can you do. They began to search for the collar and leash, but I had a memory of them handing them to me as I left when I dropped her off. I'd thought I would have left them in the car for when I eventually picked her up, but they weren't in the car. "Must be at home," I said, and took the dog with me on a borrowed leash as far as the car.
Drove home. 25, maybe 30 minutes with the traffic.
Looked for the collar and leash. Nowhere.
Called DeVarona. They searched more extensively. "Yep, they're here."
Back in the car for another hour of fun. But we did perform the celebratory ritual we always perform when we get Clarabelle back from boarding:
By the time I got home again it was noon, so we had lunch, followed by some lazing about the place. Kids doing projects (T has been making crafts), Q reading or playing his DS...And the weather wasn't bad, either. We just weren't up for much. The night before, I had been sitting with Janneke in the living room, and had simply declared:
"I'm done being in Puerto Rico."
We're spent. It's time to go home.
We rallied in the afternoon to get some progress in on the 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle we had begun; we were pretty close to finishing at that point.
And around 3:30 we managed to drag ourselves to the beach for a limited frolic. Back home again, where I took off to do some jogging. As I usually do after a jog, I hit the water; it cools me off a lot faster, and gets some of the sweat out of the clothes before I bring them back into the house.
'Course, I'm barefoot when I go in, and yesterday I drifted far enough out to where I was suddenly standing on rock. Or would have been, had I put my foot down for more than a delicate probe. Once I realized it was rock, the words "Sea urchin!" rang out in my head like a fire alarm, and I began to tread water in the pretty-shallow sea, keeping my feet out in front of me, which requires a lot of arm and hand motion to keep afloat. I was facing back toward the beach.
Now, the day before, when we'd gotten home, I'd been unable to completely re-attach the ear pieces on my glasses. I got one mostly in, but the screw didn't go all the way through to the bottom sprong; on the other piece, I couldn't get it even through the top one. So that one was held on with a paper clip until I could make it to a repair shop. Meaning that my glasses, while on for this particular run, weren't on especially tightly.
And as I treaded water there, an especially big wave came up from behind, caught me unawares, washed over my head and my face, and took my glasses off, clean as a whistle.
I fished for them madly with my right hand, and managed to bump them before they disappeared forever, down to Davy Jones' locker.
So I've got the contacts in now. It'll be a long day of travel in them when we eventually do go home, but I'll make it. It was time for a new pair anyway.
Home, supper, dishes, and the kids watched the first half of "Summer of the Colt", an Argentine movie Janneke found on Netflix. We were prepping them for a long time on the Spanish saying we'd help them if it got dificult - but then it turned out the thing is dubbed / spoken in English, depending, I think, on whether the actor involved spoke any. Bother. Still, a cute movie. At one point, the kids who come to visit their grandfather in the country are settling in to their rooms. One of them has misplaced the bag with his clothes in it. He enters the room and declares, "I can't find my sack!" Which left Q and T in stitches. And which has been quoted numerous times since then.
By the kids.
Thus will our last days be here: Uneventful. Tonight we plan on hitting the movies - "Rise of the Planet of the Apes" opens here for me and Q, and Janneke, whose turn it is to go with T (I saw "Zookeeper", remember), will see "Smurfs".
Janneke and T went out this morning for a sunrise breakfast on the rocks overlooking the sea down at the beach, and just walked back in, soaked to the bone.
It's raining quite hard on and off today. I had planned on going in to do some more project-type stuff in San Jiuan, but not on a day like today. Not with a borrowed camera. I'd planned on getting some stuff on the sort-of-feral cats of Old San Juan, but they'll all be in out of the rain, I'm sure. Less fun to film.
OK, then - unless something cataclysmic happens, I doubt you'll hear too much more of us. There won't be much to tell - cleaning, packing, getting nervous for the trip. But I'll try to keep you posted.
(We had one piece missing, and one extra piece.)
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