. . . with whom I shall be soon reunited within 3 weeks: the first to slip between the sheets with for two or three days straight, and the second to purchase a few cans of Spam for and to settle into our little doggie love affair which has lasted for quite a bit longer than the multitude of Dodger's BFs (which is by the way the (quantitative) Golden Touchstone by which all Thai BF encounters described here on Sawatdee are judged).
Received my 12 month retirement visa in the mail this morning, and the celebration of anticipation starts officialy from this day until sprouting wings at YVR.
One would think the desire to be back (home?) would slightly diminish on each trip, but for me the opposite is the case. I still take great childish joy in choosing aisle-or-window ... relishing my beer time in a little hole-in-the-wall bar at Narita (where I was even recognized by the Japanese bartender a year or two ago) ... loving the (seeming) little hop-skip-and-jump of the 2nd leg, 6-hr flight ending up in Bangkok, cruising past the screaming touts at Suvarmapumi arrivals, searching for Mr Suphot's big sparkling white choppers in full-grin 'somewhere' in the crowd (he always finds me first) ... and the great heaving slow-kiss once in the car deep in the darkened corner of the airport parking lot building ... and then the tired drive, the Bangkok hotel for a 3-nighter re-examination of "everything" ... and then our life together starts over once again for the next 8 months.
A joy from start to finish, sometimes with minor bumps (not unlike the plane ride itself), but by every measurement I can think of, a successful Thai/farang relationship that seems to have 'enduring' written all over it.
(Oh yes, and it's his birthday today (Aug 22 now in LoS) . . . as good a reason as any to raise a glass)
And then there's Number 2: A grand mutt of a Thai dog, who by any other circumstance would be grungy, thin, and soi-locked, but who ~ by good luck of the moon (I am told) has found the beach chair consession of Mrs Shampoo in Hua Hin. This good fortune (and it is shamelessly defended by strength and imperiousness by himself and two or three underlings) provides him with an excellent menu of throwaways, outright gifts of chicken pieces, spring rolls, grand portions of sea bass (well-grillled thankyou) and a can of Spam a day from myself.
This is a dog content ... a happy life producing the biggest and most beautiful bedroom eyes this side of Mr Pot, and they are dangerously hypnotic to all farang who enter The Territory. " ... Scratch my ears ... turn me over, rub my belly ... run with me to the ocean ... play in the surf with me ... feed me when I get tired ... let me sleep under your chair ... let me purr (yes!! he actually purrs!) when you approach (for I know you will do all I ask) ... pass the spam, dipshit! ... "
A joy from start to finish ... I should steal this dog and take him home. But he won't let me. He will run like crazy back to the beach ... where life is easy and no one tells him what to do.
Cheers ...
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Originally Posted by Scott123
