Foiled again.

Mommy and Daddy took me on a trip to a place called Curacao. I'm not really sure exactly where that is, but I was on airplanes for a very long time. I'm not a real big fan of those noisy uncomfortable flying tubes, but I didn't get a vote.

This pretty but garish town is Willemstad, Curacao's capital. We spent one day of our trip wandering around this city. As you might imagine, I refused to sit properly in the lime-green mobile prison. I howled very loudly whenever they tried to strap me in, so they let me sit and face forward sometimes. I had a much nicer view from there.

Late in the afternoon, my parental captors were hungry and thirsty. Their needs were exacerbated by their efforts in keeping me captive, which made me happy. When small victories are all you've managed your whole life, you learn to celebrate whenever you get the opportunity.

While they ate, drank and indulged in insipid conversation, I was given a bottle to replenish fluids I'd lost from the heat. When finished, I quickly stole Daddy's beer, which made a loud popping sound that startled me when it was opened. While they were distracted by their laughter at the evident cuteness of a small baby holding a beer, I wanted to sample the beverage.

Yuck! It smelled awful.

The scent of this foul potion (along with some rocking) knocked me right out.

When I came to, we were far from Willemstad, and back in the temporary prison I endured while on the island. I was able to secure a document which I was certain would enable me to escape with the help of the long arm of the law on our ridiculously long trip back:


It didn't.