Olga the Adventurer

Well, we made it to Bath, dog and all!

Olga’s first trip on the train went quite smoothly, actually. She was popular on the tube, garnering pats on the head from nearby strangers, and she seemed excited but more or less comfortable in Paddington Station. When Dave walked away to collect our tickets and buy sandwiches, she did her best to keep an eye on him (above).

On the train itself, we had very little room, as you can imagine. Olga didn’t want to be on the floor -- and we didn’t want her there anyway, interfering with the feet of our fellow passengers – so she lay across our laps for the 1.5-hour journey. (A coworker told me this is how she travels with her dog as well, so I guess it’s the thing to do.)

Once she got settled she stayed pretty quiet, looking out the window and even snoozing. It’s not a whole lot different from sitting on the couch at home, except there’s less elbow and leg space, and I felt more self-conscious about all the little white hairs attaching themselves to the dark blue upholstered seats.

In Bath, we hopped a taxi to our B&B, which is run by a guy named Peter who took time to painstakingly explain our location and the various nearby landmarks for sightseeing. It's a spacious old house with paintings of what appear to be black-and-white movie actresses on the walls. (The product of Peter, one suspects.)

We went to our room and, exhausted, stayed there for the duration of the evening, drinking Sauvignon Blanc from the minibar and watching a terrible Cameron Diaz and Ashton Kutcher movie. I ate these things called Twiglets (also from the minibar) which were one of the strangest snack foods I’ve ever experienced – like little tree twigs with bitter bark. I am not a fan.

This morning I took Olga out for a walk in the gray light of dawn, and she nibbled on the dewy grass of Bath. Now I’m having my coffee in one of the foofiest little cups I’ve ever used.