This morning, I woke up to three squirrels romping among the dead plants on the balcony outside my bedroom window. Goblin was asleep at the switch, so I observed their misty morning dance for a few minutes, but then I had to get up to go to the gym and decided to let my little girl earn her keep. “Goblin, is there a squirrel?” I whispered to the snoring hound. She sprang out of bed before she was even awake and stumbled around, blinking, until her bat ears swiveled in the right direction and she darted to the window. I had thought the varmints would disperse at the sight of her, but they stood motionless on the rail and observed her curiously; it was Goblin’s turn to dance, lurching back and forth, stiff-legged, as she calculated the probabilities and trajectories of an attack through solid glass. She was still there, pacing, after I brushed my teeth and shaved.

So—surprise!—we are home from our trip to the Undisclosed Location. I started a half-hearted travel journal, which I will belatedly post here in abridged format over the next few days.

But first, a chupacabra.