Although I have already been prominently featured in Suzanne Vine's Amsterdam, this week I get to take over the blog writing. It's time you heard directly from me about what life is like in my adopted city. It has now been five months since we moved here, and let's just say my life hasn't always been a bed of roses - or do they say, "a bed of tulips" here? Speaking of beds, I have now taken to sleeping on the couch, which I never did back In Maplewood, N.J. Putting up with my couch-sleeping is the least my family can do for me, after what I have been through. I'll start by retelling the beginning of this journey, back in Maplewood, so you have an idea both of how this adventure started, and have far I have come.

Here I am in our recently redone kitchen in Maplewood. Just a few short months after the kitchen was completed, my dad Peter got the news from his company, Akzo-Nobel that we were moving to Amsterdam. Vine's Law (or as others call it, Murp… — Here I am in our recently redone kitchen in Maplewood. Just a few short months after the kitchen was completed, my dad Peter got the news from his company, Akzo-Nobel that we were moving to Amsterdam. *Vine's Law* (or as others call it, *Murphy's Law*). I miss that floor! It was really cold.

The house was a mess in July, and then it was empty...and we left. We spent the month of August like wandering Jews, moving from the home of friends in South Orange, to the Marriott Residence Inn in West Orange, and back to friends in Maplewood. We also spent a lot of the summer saying goodbye to family and friends. With all of that moving around, I decided to revert back to puppy behavior by chewing up the tissues in the bathroom waste basket and decorating the floor with them. I'm actually still doing that occasionally, just to make sure my family appreciates the upheaval I've endured.

I'm surprised they didn't throw me in a box, too.

This photo is part of my Farewell Tour. I'm pictured with Donna, who used to work at the Jersey Animal Coalition. She found me on the streets of Newark one Easter weekend eleven years ago and named me Jellybean. That was before my conversion bo… — This photo is part of my Farewell Tour. I'm pictured with Donna, who used to work at the Jersey Animal Coalition. She found me on the streets of Newark one Easter weekend eleven years ago and named me Jellybean. That was before my conversion both to Judaism and to the religion known as the Yankees. I was renamed by the Druckers after the late, great Casey Stengel.

Actually, although I didn't end up in a box during the packing up process, that wasn't far from what did eventually happen to me. Apparently, there is a lot of paperwork required before you can ship your furry loved one over to the Netherlands. My mom was stressed out about it for weeks. I think she channeled all of her worries over the move into the logistics of moving me. Our friend Kate suggested turning the ups and downs into a Monopoly-like game: "Vet doesn't sign the paperwork in blue ink? Go back two spaces. Crate too small? Go to jail. Do not collect $200."

Just one leg of the "Getting Casey to Amsterdam" saga found my mom driving down to the USDA office near Trenton to get paperwork signed and stamped by someone official in the USDA named Rocky. The joy of getting the papers finally signed and se… — Just one leg of the "Getting Casey to Amsterdam" saga found my mom driving down to the USDA office near Trenton to get paperwork signed and stamped by someone official in the USDA named Rocky. The joy of getting the papers finally signed and sealed were one of the highlights of my mom's life, or at least of her summer. Sad, no?

Once those papers were signed, we had ten days in which to get out of town, or the paperwork would be null and void and we would have to start the process all over again. The good news is that I got to see an airport for the first time.

The bad news is that I spent my first night in solitary confinement.

The less said about the flight, the better. It's times like these when you wish you were some kind of posh poodle who could fit under the seat. Let's just say that flying in storage is for the birds, not for dogs. But that night spent on a United Airlines plane feels like it was years ago. Within a few weeks, I felt like Amsterdam was almost home.

Here's my very own passport! I haven't ventured outside the city yet, but I'm ready (just as long as it doesn't involve getting on a plane again).

There are lots of advantages to living in Amsterdam. For one, dogs are allowed to go almost everywhere: to cafes and restaurants, to shops, and even on the trams and trains. The people here really love dogs. They treat them like people. They dress them up in sweaters and raincoats. While there are some dog-centric/dog-crazy people in the U.S. - yes, I mean you Aunt Jen, Lissy, Emily, Laura, and Laurie - here in Amsterdam the dog lovers are everywhere. In fact, dogs seem to garner all the attention that cute babies do in the U.S. Hugs, pats, and streams of Dutch words come my way every day. Most people here, at least in our neighborhood, have at least one dog, if not a whole posse. There's even an animal political party here, called Party for the Animals. Funny, when I think about a dog party, I'm not thinking about politics. I'm picturing the best dog party ever depicted.

This illustration is from one of the great works of literature: Go, Dog, Go! A must read! — This illustration is from one of the great works of literature: *Go, Dog, Go!* A must read!

Just chillin' at a nearby cafe. This photo was taken shortly after I vacuumed the floor with my nose, looking for crumbs. I usually get lucky. — Just chillin' at a nearby cafe. This photo was taken shortly after I vacuumed the floor with my nose, looking for crumbs. I usually get lucky.

The sign shows that this store may be taking the dog reverence thing a bit too far, and that's coming from a dog.

Another big advantage to living here is that there is an abundance of delicious-smelling trash on the streets. It's like the world's best buffet of litter. Sadly, I'm usually tugged away when I try to grab some food or trash that someone has tossed on the ground. In addition to the copious trash, there are also lots of dog "leftovers" to smell. They just don't obsess about picking up after their dogs the way humans seem to in Maplewood. Not everyone is a fan of this laissez-faire attitude towards dog pick-up. Our neighbor religiously takes out her children's chalk and instructs the offenders to pick up the poep.

Here the neighbor is telling us that this is the third time this week that the dog has left his remains of the day behind.

Im a little confused by the ubiquitous dog presents, given that the city makes it really easy for humans to clean up after dogs. These stations with bags and garbage cans are everywhere.

And these festive signs that adorn many homes don't really seem to do the trick, either.

One strange thing about living here is that folks let their dogs walk around without supervision. Also, sometimes the humans ride bikes with the dogs trotting alongside, desperately trying to keep up. Come on, people, we are animals. We can't be trusted to walk across busy city streets with trams, busses and motorbikes flying by, and we don't want to run at the speed a bike travels. I wince sometimes when I see what goes on here in the name of dog freedom.

Apparently, it's not just the dogs that are allowed to roam free. It's cats, too. That's why we see these signs posted all over the city, advertising missing cats. Keep those cats inside, and not around me in my 'hood! — Apparently, it's not just the dogs that are allowed to roam free. It's cats, too. That's why we see these signs posted all over the city, advertising missing cats. Keep those cats inside, and not around me in my 'hood!

Because the dogs are running around footloose and fancy free, you can't help but meet them, even when you are not in the mood. One of the first friends I made here is an American lab, Ruby, who is originally from Atlanta. She stops even more than I do to smell the roses. One day, in the park, we ran into a badly-behaved Dutch dog who manhandled (doghandled?) Ruby. I came to her defense, and as a result, found a corner of my ear bitten off by the Dutch dog. Since I always try to look on the bright side of things, this gave us the chance to find a vet here, and they have really good dog treats in the office. They also serve coffee, so my mom was happy, too.

Here is my buddy Ruby and me, right before the infamous Van Gogh incident with my ear. — Here is my buddy Ruby and me, right before the infamous Van Gogh incident with my ear.

Not really feeling it here with this Dutch dog, the co-owner of Sweetcup Coffee, but since I'm in his domain, I'm polite. Plus my mom really likes their coffee. — Not really feeling it here with this Dutch dog, the co-owner of *Sweetcup Coffee*, but since I'm in his domain, I'm polite. Plus my mom really likes their coffee.

It really is true what they say: the Dutch girls are very pretty. I'm a big hit at the park with the ladies.

Taking care of dogs is big business here. My mom and I had to be interviewed by the dog sitting company before they would let us sign up. I love going on walks with them. We travel in style, in a van. You also have you own agenda book that your walker writes in after your walk, so your folks know how you behaved. I don't think there are parent-walker conferences, but I wouldn't be surprised if that's coming soon. No word yet on whether Pearson Education is going to come up with a test to measure both how much I have learned and how good my dog walker is. It's probably only a matter of time. (Sorry, non-teacher friends, if you don't get that inside-joke about testing-frenzy. We couldn't resist!).

Apparently, you can also get your hair cut and nails done in the van. Haven't tried that yet.

Here's my dog whisperer, Chantal, on our route in The Bos, which is Amsterdam's version of the South Mountain Reservation, my old haunt. My Dutch is still pretty shaky, but I do know "Kom hier!" ("Come here!") because it sounds so much lik… — Here's my dog whisperer, Chantal, on our route in *The Bos,* which is Amsterdam's version of the *South Mountain Reservation*, my old haunt. My Dutch is still pretty shaky, but I do know "*Kom hier!*" ("Come here!") because it sounds so much like English.

So, all in all, I'm leading the good life here in Amsterdam. I miss my trips to The Res (the South Mountain Reservation) with my dog sitters John and Chris, and with my friends Ramsey and Oliver. But I've come to realize that your home is the place where your peeps are, and so that means Amsterdam is now my home. Come visit and you'll see why I like it. If you do come, would you mind bringing over a box of Iams treats for me? And maybe some Trader Joe's chocolate-covered almonds for my mom? And to that dog in Vondel Park who chewed up my ear, this tune is for you.

I miss seeing Ben and Rachel all the time, but when they are here, it's like they never left me. Here's Rachel when she was in Amsterdam in January.

Writing is exhausting. I'm turning the leash back to mom next week.

If you liked this blog post, stay tuned for a longer memoir about me written by my mom. Here she is at a course on Memoir Writing she took a few weekends ago with Amsterdam Writing Workshops (taught by a Teachers College grad). She's thinking a… — If you liked this blog post, stay tuned for a longer memoir about me written by my mom. Here she is at a course on Memoir Writing she took a few weekends ago with *Amsterdam Writing Workshops (*taught by a Teachers College grad). She's thinking about writing a book about Casey, the Ex-pat (Ex-paw?). I added this last song just to humor her. She is my brown-eyed girl, after all.