dog days of summer

Our latest European travel adventure as told by Tilly the dog.

I didn't really need a vacation. I sleep, lick my butt and take walks in the woods every day. But mom and dad decided to take me around Europe with them anyway. I'm not complaining. Harley the cat had to stay home. Ha-ha.

Berlin: Mom, dad and I walked in the rain for an hour looking for Brandenburg Gate. Mom started getting "bitchy" because of low blood sugar. So they took me and my muddy paws back to the hotel so they could eat. Dad's breath smelled like really good chinese food when they got back. Meanwhile, I threw up my disgusting road food all over the hotel carpet.

Prague: Mom told me to lie down – yelled is more like it – when we went through Czech customs. I have my own passport but mom was just being a worrywart (as usual). I sat up and said hello just as we pulled up to the window, and they didn't do anything! We passed some prostitutes on the side of the road, so mom told dad not to stop for gas there. Mom and dad picked a great hotel in Prague. It was near a big park and our room was huge. It even had a balcony, so we could see all the people drinking booze in the park. People in Prague are much more laid-back about leash laws than in Sweden. I could run around the park and play with the other dogs. Although, mom and dad left me in the room a lot so they could see the city. I don't think they really liked it so much, because they came home early both days. I heard mom say something about a shady waiter and that she couldn't wait to leave. Didn't seem like such a bad place to me. I got to sniff a lot of butts and I even got to eat sausages from the breakfast buffet.

Switzerland: The drive from Prague to Geneva was 10 hours. Mom yelled at me to lie down before we entered Germany, Austria and Switzerland. (What's her problem?!) The most memorable day of the week was when mom and dad took me to Chamonix, France. We rode up a cable car (didn't like that at all!) and then hiked down the mountain. That's when I hurt my paw on a rock. Two days later, my vacation got even worse because I had to go to the vet. The doctor spoke French, but he fixed up my infected paw really good. French people are very nice. They leave water outside for me, they stop to pet me all the time, and they let me go inside fancy restaurants. When mom, dad, Dick and Kristin ate Lebanese food in Vevey, Switzerland, I got to sit at the table too. Mom snuck pita bread to me under the table.

Now I'm back in rainy Sweden dreaming of my days sitting on Lake Geneva and hobnobbing in fancy restaurants. Why couldn't I have been adopted by a Swiss family?

(Us humans wouldn't mind still being in Switzerland either. You can read Lewis' blog report of our whole summer vacation here.)

Comments

[Lisa]

So if you are not a horribly careful reader and miss the tagline under the title that tells that it is the dog telling the story it makes for a pretty funny first couple of sentences.
Thanks for the chuckle.
L