Later that same day

Charlotte and I seem to be getting along just fine. In fact, we're having a pretty good time together.

My overall feeling though is that she's not a terribly high-maintenance dog. I'm not going to constantly give her things to do or run her to exhaustion as we had to with Patch when he was younger.

In fact, she doesn't even chase birds or little boys kicking soccer balls around the park.

She's much more of a pensive animal. Content to just strike majestic poses and just watch things happen. Only other dogs grab her attention.

Though I'm very happy that Christin took her out with the other dogs and let her run off-leash in the woods too. Sometimes dogs still need to be dogs.

Meantime, Glen and Betina have told me to make myself at home and eat whatever I find around the house. I'm a little hesitant though to eat anything I can't positively identify. I remember Jeanne telling me about her great-grandfather who didn't speak any English when he first moved to America and he'd buy things at the grocery store based on the pictures on the cans. One day he brought home a can of Crisco that had a picture of fried chicken on the front, assuming he'd find a chicken inside.

So I'm a little worried about accidentally eating some dog treat. Or even a bar of soap or something from Lush.

Oh, and by the way, the pedestrian zone isn't nearly as big as I presumed. It's just about three blocks by five blocks. But it is big enough to have more than one Starbucks. Though what mall doesn't!?

[EDIT: Uh oh. Just  learned the chicken-in-a-can story actually happened to a friend of the family's ancestors -- not Jeanne's great grandfather. Sorry about that. But, hey, when have I ever let the facts get in the way of a good story, right?]