Here they are, Cruise Beagle and Bao. Together at last. These little guys really like hanging out together, and they're both gettting older. Bao is nearly eight; Cruise is nine. Morag and I can remember when they were sprightly young men!

South Florida is like a foreign country. Bao fels it too, even though we once used to live here. (Mind you, it felt like a foreign country then, too. And it bothered me, because after 32 years overseas, I thought I was coming back to the United States. Which South Florida is, geographically. But no other way)

Here, the lingua franca -- the language you hear in stores, the language you hear on the street, the language people are screaming into their cell phones -- is either Spanish or Haitian. The people are Cuban, Colombian, Argentine, Haitan, Jamaican, Caribbean. They are not hyphenated Americans, and they don't want to be. The (wealthy) Caucasian minority lives in secure, heavily guarded tower blocks of condominiums and pretends the rest of it doesn't exist.

Customs are different, too. Dogs are fashion statements, like gold chains and designer handbags, rather than beloved pets. They are well dressed, but not loved. Their owners don't pick up. They're mostly small dogs, but some of them are quite nasty, snarling and snapping, and Bao is scared of them. If it weren't for Morag, we wouldn't be here.

Mostly, we're hanging out with Morag, watching television. At least she's in her own home, with her dear little dog lying on the bed next to her. If she didn't have Home Care insurance, she'd be in a nurshing home. I hate insurance companies with a deep and abiding passion, but Home Care insurance is definitely worth considering.