After two days of the shipboard torture fun (described here) in which I steadfastly refused all of Barb and the Hub’s entreaties to “go here”, we docked at Santander in Spain.

What fresh hell is this? Barb wants me to ignore a lifetime of proper behavior to piddle on a blue-painted Poop(less) Deck? As if! I’ll just hold on for two days until I can find a proper bit of grass to go as Mother Nature and all that’s holy intended. 

HOW TO MEET THE LOCALS (by Peri Taub, International Dog of Mystery)

Humans are always telling my person Barb how much they want to travel so they can meet interesting new people.*

*⇒[Nobody has ever accused Barb of being polite, so it completely amazes me she hasn’t replied (yet) with, “Maybe the interesting people don’t want to meet you?”

Instead Barb usually lists a bunch of…