Snail pizza

I'm sitting in the attic over the barber shop in Kilcullen. The street door is open for customers, so a swoosh of cold air from below annoys my ankles. I'm about to fly home, day after tomorrow, after five weeks in Europe. This is the longest I've stayed over here, and I have to admit I'm a little homesick.

Yesterday I talked to my dog-sitter and learned that he hasn't been giving Homie his twice weekly bath all this time. His skin allergy was almost healed when I left, and now I have to start all over again with sulfur shampoo, watching the soft new hairs come in slowly, slowly, to replace the horrid black bumps and raw scratched places. I feel guilty leaving him alone so long. I never imagined there was anyone who couldn't manage to give a dog a bath!

I've survived two long weeks not speaking English while I struggled with nearly-forgotton French at La Cardere. I've eaten all the Bresse regional dishes and drunk so much wine I'm actually tired of it. I'll write about all that stuff later. Right now I'm catching up on five missed weeks of "This American Life" on NPR.