George was euthanized.

Worth noting: here we are waving hello to the homeland as we overlook the Atlantic on continental Europe's most Western point, yayer.

So yesterday morning we woke up at 5 am in order to make it to Lisbon in time to meet my mother and commence two weeks of comfortable beds, bountiful beakfasts, and flowing wine amongst other things. The drive into Lisbon was easy, maybe too easy as we are accustomed to getting hopelessly lost at least once on every drive, which of course means that something is bound to go wrong. 10 kilometers outside of Lisbon we pull up to the toll booth and as my foot is firmly on the brake, George starts to roll backwards. As we are blocking the morning commuters into Lisbon, we push the car out of the way, or at least try to when a man jumps out of his car and says in accentless English, 'do you need some help?'. Thank god for Canadians. After our new friend made a call to his mechanic, we saw George towed away and told by a man with no front teeth and a pinache for flirtatious lip movements that George was dead - he conveyed this to us by clasping his hands together at the side of his head and pretending to sleep after trying to make engine work. Moral of the story, George is legally dead and being compressed into a small block to be sold by weight - we are in mourning. Thankfully my mother has arrived and we are already enjoying the luxuries and comforts of having some mothering.
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