SINGING IN A FOREIGN LAND
Gorgeous sunshiney spring days, albeit shivering frosty cold in the minus temperatures. The kids play in the gurgling water-filled ditch behind the house, stomping the ice edges, building bridges, muck schlurping around their sodden ankles and mud-spattered playpants. We can’t keep them out of it. They’re drawn like magnets to water, that new, cool plaything. This morning we went to the International Dog Show in Malmö in the hopes of accosting a flat-coated retriever breeder or two and bombarding them with our ignorance and questions about puppies, the acquisition of, the care of, the raising of, the logistics of. No...