The largest slice of cake any of us has ever seen arrives with a steak knife stabbed through it and a birthday candle in it. A group of waiters crowds around our table singing “Happy Birthday” at the top of their lungs, and everyone at the table joins in while Rob, whose birthday is in October, shakes his head and laughs.

This year, we were one night into our vacation when Rob got his brother back. We sang Happy Birthday to Russ on the outdoor patio of a seafood restaurant, and a year long score was settled. Russ, who was born in August, glared over his “birthday” candle and smirked, and we all knew it was war.

Night two was Rob’s “birthday”, of course, orchestrated by Russ again, and I assumed that was the end; they’d each gotten each other once this year. On night three, I had NO clue. None. Russ said afterwards that I looked like was “three minutes from peeing myself” because I was laughing so hard I started to cry and could barely pull it together long enough to blow out my candle. Even better, the enthusiastic waiters finished “Happy Birthday” and did a second verse in Spanish: Feliz Cumpleanos. I’m keeping the candle forever.

This is the family I married into.

I thought getting wi-fi would be easier than it has been, so I didn’t bother posting the “I’ll be away for a few days” message. Turns out it’s available in the rooms for $15 a day, which I’m NOT paying, but there’s free wi-fi in the lobby of the resort we’re staying in. Because of this, it is only now, after my first full day of basking in the sun, that I’ve had a moment to come sit and type away.

It’s beautiful here: 80-something and sunny, and with palm trees and blue water and shit. Tropical stuff. It’s great. There’s a part of me that is so, so heavy, though. It was just about a year ago, here in Puerto Rico, that I first laid eyes on Tino, broken and abandoned. It was the single most painful moment of my life; he absolutely broke my heart.

Of course his story has a happy ending so it was worth the pain, and through coming in contact with all the people that helped save him I have learned so much about the plight of dogs here in PR. (Oh gawd, I hear you thinking, there she goes again.)

I am glad to know, but I’m disgusted with the Puerto Rican government for letting this go on, and for their callous treatment and dismal standards of conduct in regards to these animals. I actually feel a bit guilty being here supporting the tourism business (although I’m not paying for this trip, and, in the end, family unity won out).

Of course, then I think: who says things like, “I’m disgusted with the Puerto Rican government?” Me, apparently. I don’t talk about it too much because it’s impossible to do without sounding like a total jackhole, but learning what I know changed me forever. I am glad to be informed; on the other hand it is a horrible thing to be informed of.

Speaking of dogs, I miss the trio terribly. I’m having fun, I love Rob’s family, but I miss them so badly. Carissa is watching them and house sitting for me, and I sent her three or four excessively long emails detailing how to feed them and care for them. I’m a nervous mother! I stopped short of writing down the lyrics to “The Song for Chubby Dogs”, which I sing to them daily, but I considered it. (I’m not kidding.) They can live without the song for a few days, I’m pretty sure. (Oh, I hope! Maybe I should call her and sing it, so she knows the melody…?)

A lot of people asked if we are going to bring home a fourth dog this time around. We’re not, we have a lease with a landlord that had to be talked into accepting three dogs, but if we still lived in a house… maybe. I’d be tempted to snag one of these little girls. They look like Matty Minis!

I don’t know if I’ll be blogging anymore while I’m here. You can keep up with my twitter feed if you miss me, and I’ll be posting flickr photos when I can, mostly via mobile uploads with my iPhone.

If I don’t check in before then, happy New Year!