Subir un millón de escaleras bajo el sol para ver siete letras gigantes en una colina es la última ocurrencia de mis humanos, pero al menos la ruta nos regaló un escondite salvaje a la orilla del rÃo.
My humans are finally developing a decent instinct for finding shady corners, even if they keep nodding like dashboard bobbleheads when people speak to them in a language they don't understand.
The Kazakh military escorted us like diplomats, but the Russian welcome included an interrogation that nearly made me confess where I hide my sweets.
My patience as a shopkeeper has its limits, and that limit is measured by the smell of meat-filled pastry while I’m stuck watching the patio.
My eyes have returned to normal thanks to Kazakh dairy medicine, and we've swapped river mosquitoes for a forest, complete with a human picnic.
