Flan and Jean (the dog)

Yesterday I received (through a secret courier) a mysterious metallic package. Of course, I am always suspicious of such things, given my ongoing feud with the bio-terrorists in Sri Lanka (who, by the way, have recalled their biobots from our property, but more on that later). In this case, though, the package smelled so wonderful that I could not bother with the normal protocol, so I opened it right away.

Inside the shallow metal disk was the most beautiful sight you can imagine: a golden flan swimming in caramel sauce. But not just any flan. This regal custard has the consistency of cheese cake and the texture of... well, it would be indecent to continue.

Even though I knew it would spoil my appetite, I cut a wedge of this miracle and ate it immediately, careful to let my tears drop on the floor and not into the plate (lest the saltiness affect the chemistry). At once I knew that this flan could have been made by none other than the queen mother of Cuba herself. After dinner I had another piece. And even Cheryl, who is no friend of flan, said she liked it. To be fair, it is not better than the custard my mom used to make and that my Aunt Helen in Arizona makes, but it is mucho gusto.

And visiting with me today is Jean, our temporary guest service dog who is trained (as I mentioned before) to bite anyone who says something stupid.

Here she is, emerging from a long meeting with Willow (and I can imagine what vicious lies she heard). As you can tell, she is just waiting for me to open my mouth. I'm choosing my words carefully. Good dog.