Homecoming (and Going)

Creak here. But not for long! That's right, dear friends, Creak is taking a rest. I've decided that for at least a week or so, the expatriate lifestyle so romanticized by such greats as Hemingway shall become a reality. Many of you may find it odd that I'd choose to spend my time away from my favorite place in the world, home, but as Homer once said it best. Under the belief that there is no sweeter sight to a man's (dog's) eyes than his home, much as Odysseus felt, I have to actually leave to enjoy coming back.

As I wait here for my taxi to the airport, I think of the sights, the smells of another land. I wonder if the air will seem strange to my taste, if the water will taste differently, and if the doggy biscuits will be as foreign to my palate as I am to their country. Will they be as delicious? If they aren't, have I brought enough? Well, enough of this, I shall know soon enough.

Many have long wondered just how an arthritic dog spends his vacation. The answer, of course, is in style. Hoping to keep the paparazzi one step behind, I won't disclose the name or location of my trendy hotel, suffice to say it's so hot, if I touched it, I'd get burned.

I will note, I'll be spending one day in the public eye, my stop in Paris will bring me to the hottest dog hangout in town, Le Canine. There I will pontificate on life, love, and the pursuit of a good romp in a park with the greatest intellectual minds Europe has to offer.

Alack! The taxicab has arrived, and now I must bid you all farewell. See you all in a couple of weeks. Ciao.