English as a second language

OK, I'll admit that like most "parents" (whether the "kids" have hair, fur or otherwise), I'm biased about my doggie's beauty and brains. Even so, I am still surprised by her abilities now and again and, especially her understanding of English.

This may have been cheeky on my part, but having an "English speaking" dog (OK, she speaks dog), in Spain, I felt, was a means to retain sole control and, would be an additional guard dog deterrent feature: other people might feel more uneasy when they don't understand a bloody word I'm saying to her. It also helps prevent them discovering that about the worst they would get from her is severe licking and a few whacks from a wagging tail! No this wouldn't work in tourist areas, but up here it does.

We do use "sit" for "sit", which most folk will recognize, but the few other commands we have attempted to learn, mostly, use non-standard English words too for additional effect. In reality, this was her idea, because she simply refused to have anything to do with the usual words, but I eventually cottoned on to the plan. Truthfully, most of what she understands, she's learned herself through osmosis. The uncanny bitch even knows her left from her right and the respective words, which not a few humans have considerable trouble over.

Anyway, as I'm sure I've mentioned before, we have bread delivered daily. This is great, but a whole loaf (really only a large roll) is actually too much for me. As I consider the pointed ends to serve a similar purpose as the handles on a Cornish pasty - i.e. they're there to keep your fingers clean, not to eat, what I do is to cut slices from the middle of the bread and the knob ends become "treats" for the dog. No, it's not just a case of using her as a K9 waste disposal unit - though, mostly, she is - bread really is pretty much her favorite treat.

We have technically termed these left over pieces, "dog ends."

So, this morning, I'd placed one of these "dog ends" on the kitchen table, but not given it to Holly. It was in reach and, most dogs are very good at stealing food. Nope, she hadn't been given it, so she didn't touch it. She certainly knew it was hers, guarded it and did have a few sharp words with a couple of cats who got too close to it, but that's all. I was making coffee at the time and could see the child-like excitement growing in her, so without looking round nor indicating at anything, I just said to her, "Is there something you want? Show me!" 

With that, she stands up and places her two front paws on the edge of the table, no more than 3 or 4 inches from the bread and nodded her nose towards it, before looking up at me with those huge, brown pleading eyes.

Obedience is not something I've ever forced on her, since a) I'm too much of a pushover and b) she has such a wonderful spirit that I didn't want to break (she's so smart and independent, I don't think I'd be successful anyway). But, as with many non-native English speakers, I'm coming to the conclusion that her comprehension of the language is close to surpassing mine!

Sunday Afternoon Stroll

Yesterday, I needed a bit of shopping from the local store and on the way home, I stopped in a restaurant in the valley for a coffee. One of the local smallholders, whom I often see around here, tending his fields and getting water from the tap at the horse trough, was in the restaurant, talking to a woman I didn't know. One piece of conversation led to another and the man was telling this lady that I have a dog and some cats ... And that the cats follow us everywhere like ducklings.

Infamy as a crazy cat woman! Who cares?

Here's the proof ...

It really was a Sunday afternoon when all the ducklings decided to follow the dog and I out for a stroll. Here's four of them as we set off up the hill from the house. Khan leading, his sister Kitty half hidden behind him, Balu, then Betty bringing up the rear. Number five, Mico, can't be far behind.

Single file everyone! Still Khan, Kitty then Balu, keeping more or less in line as we make our way across the valley. Mico and Betty had stopped to sniff a bush just the other side of the old ruined house.

Mico, who, it must be said, is the most laid back cat I ever met, finally catches up just in time to meet himself - well the others - coming back!

After a long walk, Khan stops off at the horse trough for a drink.

While Betty detours to walk along the back of the communal laundry facilities.

On the way back home and when one stops, they all stop for a well-earned sit down. Balu out front (no surprise: he always wants to be first to the food dish), Kitty, then Khan and, Mico stops to sniff the flowers again.

Oh, and Holly the Hound, of course.

The cats often follow us whether it's Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday or Saturday too and, no I didn't train them to do it. They just seem to think that this is what you do when your 'adopted mum' is a dog, I suppose!

Is this the definition of a placid dog?

Chilled dog is happy to share anything with the cats, including treats, her bed ...

This is the dog whom locals think is a "dangerous breed" ...

Came back from the store with a bag of snacks this afternoon: just puffed corn thingies that are really no more than fresh air with flavourings, but dog likes them and so we share a bag once a month. It's a game too, because I throw them at all different angles and she gets training that would hold her in good stead, should she ever make the selection for the soccer team, as goalkeeper!

Just recently, Balu has developed a taste for crisps and snacks too and he begs for them worse than the dog. He's incredibly brazen too, because he plonked himself on the corner of my chair, between the dog and the food, which, you can imagine, could be a very dangerous place to be. Especially, because when I say that I throw these things up at all angles, that is not entirely deliberately: I'm simply a rotten thrower and they just go all over the place. 

Ask Holly about the time I threw a stick and hit her on the head. She now runs behind me, out of range, if I even pick one up now! 

Anyway, back to the snacks. So, I threw one in the air for the dog and it landed short, on the cat. I expected the dog to get it and eat it - both the cat and the snack probably - because it was only inches from her snout. But no, the cat got it first and the dog just ignored it. Sat back down and waited patiently for the next one to be thrown. A dog NOT grabbing at food seems way beyond polite and incredibly placid for a supposedly "killer dog", don't you think?

Clever Doggie

Holly on sentry duty in the hallway

The owner is undoubtedly stupid (yesterday, I managed to completely misplace a cat, because I'd shut it between the layers of one of our psuedo double-glazed windows), but my dog certainly isn't daft! Bless her, she's a real help. 

One day, when it clouded over (yet again), four out of five cats came indoors swiftly and voluntarily. That left just one outside, who was sure to follow soon and, for reasons of her own, Holly decided to sit by the front door and wait.

Since she sat there and I certainly didn't want to hover round the door calling for ages, I casually remarked to Holly, as I went back to my desk, "Let me know when the last one arrives." Don't you hold conversations with your animals then? :)

It didn't really cross my mind that she would listen, understand or answer.

However, about ten minutes later, she let out two short barks, so I went to the door to look. Yup, there he was, fifth and final cat waiting by the door to be let in. This I did, after which the "watch dog" abandoned her post. Job done.

Just a coincidental fluke? Nope, I tried it again next time we were waiting for a different last cat to come home at dinner time and I got the same result.

It works for keeping an eye on her "kids". She also "tells them off" when they fight, run around indoors or scratch the furniture. I've had no success yet with requests for help with the housework, but we're working on it!

Irresponsible dog owners

Morals of an alley cat!

Poor GC Philo has been through a tough one and a half weeks with a bitch in heat. Oh, how I can sympathize. I went through this with Holly, but decided she would enjoy life much more if she didn't have to suffer "the curse". Her (lack of) morals certainly provided some comedy in the meantime, mind you. 

The first time she came into heat the only local suitor was less than half her size. She dashed out the door one day and after discovering that it didn't work with her on top, lay down flat on the ground so he'd be able to reach. I had to put a stop to that lark, separated them and dragged her home. Call me a spoil-sport if you like, but there are quite enough unwanted puppies already, thank you.

The next one she chose was a bit big and got stuck! No worries there on the pregnancy front, because he was neutered. Oh yeah, he was still "up for it".

Every time we would go out when she was in heat, horny dogs would line up behind us and follow her. I'd take a newspaper to swat them away. I could no longer leave her outside stores to do any shopping and she could, therefore, no longer enjoy doing these things with me. It is nearly always too hot to leave a dog in a car here and her randy suitors were scratching the paintwork anyway. 

It got to the point where I couldn't take her out for exercise at all during those times, so I decided that it would be far better for her to be fixed.

Though that in itself, was an event not entirely without incident. The first thing Holly did when I went to pick her up after the operation, was to jump up, smiling, tail wagging, full of her normal exuberant energy - which had the side effect of ripping open all of her stitches. The second anaesthetic - to stitch her back up again - calmed her only a little for the next 24 hours too.

Otherwise, it didn't change her character in any way. She remained an incurable flirt and goes positively ga-ga over, particularly, big black dogs and rather handsome young men. If I was looking for one, I'd trust Holly's recommendations! And she still has her maternal instincts, which she shows for her various adopted cuddly toys, several cushions and the four kittens she's brought up as her own. For a time, this all worked out great and life was reasonably calm.

More recently, we have begun to have a real and growing problem and, just lately we've had to curtail numerous walks because of irresponsible dog owners. Spain is full of them. Cádiz is no exception to this and, nor are these islands.

You wouldn't believe it looking at the numbers of dogs wandering about in Spain's streets, but in Spain it is actually illegal to allow any dog loose anywhere at all, other than on your own land. Since there is no fence around the land that the house I am renting is on (and, because it is not mine to fence), this means that, legally, I can not take my dog out without her being on a lead.

"Dangerous breeds" are supposed to wear muzzles. Since most Spanish dogs are crossbred mutts, even if they contain 57 varieties of dangerous breed, it means they slip through that particular net. And, indeed, I've never seen a muzzled dog since the law came into force. In fact, it would be an unique sight to see anyone other than a foreign resident with a dog on a lead at all here.

Nevertheless, I was once stopped in the street in Buenavista and told in no uncertain terms by some moron that Holly should be muzzled. She is a mixture, a mongrel. Does not apply. Naff off! The Canarian friend I was talking to at the time came back with a brilliant retort: He asked if they were going to muzzle all the politicians then, since they are a dangerous breed!

The most "responsible" and "law obiding" dog owners in rural areas, wouldn't even consider the need for fencing their land to contain the many dogs they  keep. They just tie the dogs up on very short chains, so they bark incessantly (this is supposed to be guarding), eat, sleep and shit in the same place.

These poor animals are fed nothing except a few inadequate scraps. They are not loved, never exercised, certainly never see the inside of a vet's surgery and the conditions they are kept in, often with little or no shelter from extreme temperatures over 40 degrees centigrade in summer, severe storms and rain in winter, scared during fiesta fireworks, are despicable.

But, they are not breaking the law.

The rest, particularly the vast army of small, hairy, crossbreed mutts people pretend are pets, are allowed to run free in the certain knowledge that there is no dog pound in the area and because everyone knows that the local authorities have absolutely no resources for dealing with the problem. They are only just beginning to wake up to the need on the north of Tenerife, because stray dogs have been killing numerous goats recently. I don't, as yet, know what they propose to do about it. Half of me doesn't want to know really, because it is almost guaranteed to mean they will just round them up and kill them wholesale. That is not what I would call appropriate, though I have to say that, given the sort of lives these dogs would likely have as an alternative, perhaps they will be happier.

It is a law that, admittedly, I used to break too, only to the point of not having the lead always attached when I was out walking with and supervising the dog, because the area we live in is so rural and isolated, which made it perfect for such a lively dog to run about in. (I would never allow my dog to roam free, on her own, because her road sense is utter crap and I love her far too much.)

And I did so, initially, because the landlady said that it was perfectly OK with her. She neglected to mention that it was definitely NOT OK with the rest of the family, who live next door. I asked the local police and they said they wouldn't even be interested, unless my dog bit someone and, since she's so soppy she'd be more likely to lick someone to death, this had never worried me.

But to avoid any problems, we dutifully started out on the lead and I would let her off to run around the empty fields, at a good distance from the houses. 

Unfortunately though, Holly developed a nose for dead things, like decomposing rabbits. The rabbits have developed diseases recently and there is a new risk that people have started (illegally) using poisons, so, I can no longer let her do so. 

Now Holly has to go everywhere with me, on the lead.

One theoretical advantage is that if have to walk further in order to give her sufficient exercise and it is no longer enough for me to stand still while she runs around the fields, I will be fitter and thinner. This only works when we can actually get out and go far enough and I'm not always able.

The big disadvantage is that, while on the lead, Holly, naturally, adopts the stance of my protector and this has been reinforced in the worst way, because several times now, loose dogs have approached and tried to attack her. They go for her throat, which has meant that I have had to lift her up - all 55 lbs. of her - and carry her home, usually at some speed, in order to avoid injury to either of us. This usually ends in my losing at least a day, recovering from the exertion.

(No, I am not attempting to be melodramatic. Despite never being able to get a diagnosis of any kind from our medical system, I do suffer all the symptoms of Fibromyalgia. I literally shake from head to foot after any exertion, it knocks me over and leaves me in severe pain. Shopping trips cost me three days.)

It has also meant that Holly has developed - I think quite understandably - a serious dislike of small dogs - mostly of the type GC aptly refers to as a "little bastard with an underbite" - that attempt to run at her. So the cycle is complete. Now I really can't let her off the lead at all, because she is going to retaliate one day. And I really wouldn't blame her, but she would be to blame, in the eyes of the the law and those owners who suddenly gave their first f*ck about their dog and, had until then, been completely irresponsible owners, are protected.

Off lead, Holly used to be happy to run and play with most dogs.

Can't take her to Buenavista with me any more, because there are scads of these small bastard dogs in every back street and a big dog or two roaming the square. Holly looks like a scary Rottwieller, so I would prefer to take her with me for protection, especially when I go to the bank or the cash machine.

Hunting season (August - November) is also a serious pain in the arse, but on hunting days, which are Thursdays and Sundays, at least we know what to avoid. It's not difficult, because once Holly hears the guns going off, she becomes a quivering wreck and won't go further than the bridge at the end of the garden.

On the other hand, I think I am justified in being annoyed when the hunters ignore the 200 meter limit from inhabited property rule and their dogs stray onto our land. (Not for long when they come up against the cats!) Something we definitely don't expect to find are hunting dogs, in February, out hunting all on their own among unfenced vines, no more than 500 yards up the road from the house, where we usually go walking. They were a pair of dogs I recognized. They have an owner and must have been put there to "work," unsupervised. Hunters are not permitted in vineyards when there are grapes, which there will be for most of the hunting season. Obviously, they are not allowed to be hunting out of season and unsupervised hunting dogs at any time, is highly illegal. Nevertheless, it was us who had to run for our lives to avoid being the hunted! And that's twice it has happened in the same place. Last year, two of the cats had come with us, who the Jack Russell type "ratting dog" chased up a tree. That time, I had to hang around for ages until I could coax them back down and carry them home.

Funnily enough, Holly knows who the owner is too. She barks a real low, annoyed bark at him whenever he passes, even when he doesn't have his dogs with him!

The other day, I had only got as far as the local horse trough, 50 yards from the house, when a local smallholder in his Toyota pickup comes down the road, with his loose dog trotting along behind. Yes, I am sure it is fun for the dog to play "run behind the truck" on our rural tracks. Of course it is not safe for that dog and the idiot is a lazy bastard if he thinks this is an appropriate way to exercise his dog.

So I'm minding my own business trying to get water and my dog is legally on a lead. His loose dog is coming towards us, barking. I make a dash for it, having to leave my things behind at the horse trough and the man waved his finger, chastising me! Tell me what I was supposed to do differently. The same thing happened a day or so later, when another smallhoder came up the lane in his pivi, with his small, shaggy dog of indeterminate parentage running loose all around it. This one, on seeing me coming back down the hill towards the house, started in our direction at a gallop, again, barking madly. Once more, it was us who had to take quick evasive action, despite the fact that we were observing the law, and the other party wasn't. The worst of this is that they always look at me as if I am the one in the wrong. This is what I just don't get. Is it because I am a woman? Because I am a foreigner? Or is just because they can't ever put themselves out nor possibly be in the wrong? The answer is probably all of the above.

Meanwhile, my life is made hell.

In addition, there are nearly always dogs that have been dumped and abandoned in the area. Especially during and at the end of the hunting season in November, when there are always unwanted hunting dogs left behind.

We can no longer walk to the village or the shop, because there is a plethora of small dogs all running around free at all points of the route. We can't go very far up this road, because there are owners there, who persist in having vicious dogs loose. We cannot go along the main road or the rural tracks below it, because there is one smallholding, where we saw at least 50 dogs, half of which were loose, unfenced. I can tell you, I wish I'd been wearing brown undergarments when close to 25 dogs came rushing towards us in a pack.

We've often have to do a swift about face 250 yards across the valley, because someone who keeps hunting dogs there always has one loose. One of those was allowed carte-blanche for several weeks, by which time it had adopted quite a bit of territory as it's "patch", was coming down the road and wandering about all over my garden. We could hardly step outside the house. I attempted to tactfully mention it, but was ignored. In the end, I had to really push home the point that I was observing the law while it chased us, before it was finally confined.

My dog will suffer from lack of exercise and I am certainly beginning to get bored with the same old scenery on the ever-decreasing circle in which we can safely walk. There is something very wrong about this, where the tiny minority who attempt to do the right thing are "governed" by the vast majority who do not.

I think there is even more wrong with a law that encourages dogs to be tied up cruelly, mind you. My late father once said that one day the animal kingdom in Spain would rise up in retribution. He said, "I look forward to that day", but he did not live to see it. So do I, but sadly, I don't expect that I shall do so either.

Blogs make dogs and cats love each other

Kitty snuggled up with the dog

Well, no, I took the quote entirely out of context, but it did make me laugh. On the one hand, I've never been able to understand why people think that blogs are "revolutionary". They're a great concept, but it's people who have the power to "change everything", not the medium. Last time I checked, people had been around for a very long time. And, looking at the way mankind's history keeps on repeating itself, we're gonna have a long wait until they do indeed "change everything". On the other, I just don't know who came up with this myth that cats and dogs don't get along, because I see the daily living proof that they do.

We could learn a lot from animals, if only we'd care to take the time to do so. When my dog found those three kittens four years ago, she sensed that they needed help and attention. She spent days and nights by their side watching them. She took it upon herself to wash bums, made sure they were safe and didn't stray from their box ... and she continues to do so.

Kitty was unwell last week. In fact, she was really poorly, didn't eat and just wanted to curl up for five days. And, like most kids when they don't feel very well, all she wanted to do was cuddle up with mum. (I mean more so than usual.)

At one point, Kitty had snuggled up to Holly's bum on the dog bed. I got up to go somewhere and Holly got up to follow me. I hugged her and just said quietly, "No, you stay there with Kitty: she needs you". Her ass was back on that bed before I even finished the sentence and she stayed. If I'd wanted her to do that for no reason, I'd have had trouble.

I positively encouraged it all week and, I am sure, it is as much to the credit of this love & comfort as it was to the *bad guy* (that'd be me) stuffing her with antibiotics and other medicines that taste horrid that Kitty is again herself, eating fine and coming out on long walks. What makes dogs and cats love each other is intuition, knowledge and understanding. Animals don't come with preconceived ideas about what breed is supposed to get along, and not, nor are they swayed by "propaganda". Different peoples could learn a lot from them.

Maybe blogs will hep? That is, only if they really WANT to.

 

Holly and Kitty out for a walk

Doing that which you fear most

It's a LOT steeper than it looks here!

We whine over petty things, but most of us live much more comfortable lives than we admit: We're often reminded what wimps we are for staying tucked up inside our cozy comfort zones: Hardly any of us have to face decisions that affect our survival and, even less will willingly face the things we fear, unless extreme circumstances force it. The unprepared certainly shouldn't do it! 

Yeah, of course this is the idiot thing I did yesterday, but it was a "character building" experience and I did come out of it alive and feeling pretty chuffed with myself for the small achievement. I, like many people, have a fear of heights. Well, no, it would be more accurate to say that I have a fear of falling arse over tit, which really translates to a basic fear of (or wish to avoid) PAIN.

Behind a rail at the top of the Empire State, I wasn't afraid. In the helicopter hanging about over the top of it, I was exhilarated. Put me at the top of an ordinary staircase or a shallow slope with no handrail or safety net and my heart races, while my legs freeze in sheer panic. To be fair, this isn't totally irrational: I did seriously hurt myself when I slipped on a slope outside the house in the rain - much to the indignation of the two cats I was carrying in baskets at the time - and I did once break my tail bone falling down open stairs.

So, there I was walking the dog on a fine Sunday afternoon yesterday. We took the dirt track up the valley and normally, at about the half way stage, we cut across the fields and come back down the paved track that leads to the house. We had never been to the top of the track, because it doesn't go anywhere. It ends about 50 yards from the road at the top and those last 50 yards look (to me) totally vertical. Even before the track ends, is a "point of no return" for me, because it becomes too steep for me to be able to look, let alone walk, back down. So in the six years I've lived here, I've never, previously, ventured past that point.

Well, yesterday, about 200 yards in front of us was an old couple. I'd estimate in their 70's. Old guy in a cap, with whom I shall assume was the Missus: a plump "mumsy" lady in an old fashioned blue frock and cardigan. Locals, not tourists. Certainly not equipped for mountaineering and, they walked up effortlessly. 

Awe, well, what have I been worried about? Follow them! And, stupidly, I did. Despite the fact that I was perfectly conscious that Canarians, even ones in their 70's and beyond, are actually mountain goats on two legs.

Where it was usually un-trodden, there would be fresh tracks to follow, I figured. I tried to remember which ways they had turned relative to landmark bushes, etc. When it was clear that the track was going nowhere, I spotted some recently disturbed grass on the 10 foot incline, which, I kid you not, was no more than 2 degrees off the vertical! So, I sent the dog up first to pull me and scrambled on my hands and knees behind her. The old couple had effortlessly WALKED up this!

At the top, was a flat area, but it was surrounded by a high wall. It was overgrown and I could see no evidence to suggest anyone had disturbed it recently anywhere. I could truly see no way out to begin with, I couldn't see where to go up, I couldn't get back down and my heart began racing in sheer panic.

OK, time to calm down, look around and figure this out methodically.

Probably the worst that could have happened if I'd been stuck in that mess was that I'd have spent a couple of hours (or a night) on a ledge, until someone eventually heard my pathetic whimpering. This would have been more painful to my dignity than anything else, although the five cats sitting outside the house waiting for their tea might have been pretty pissed off. (And all five of them were out by the side of the road waiting for us when we did get home.)

Eventually, I found some flattened grass above, to the left of the 10 foot vertical I'd scrambled up earlier. This was up the side of a 4 foot bank that was completely vertical and led onto a severe slope above it. You have to be kidding. So I sent the dog up first, again and virtually climbed up her lead! After that, we had a tiny bit of flat area with some vines, a terrace wall to climb and finally a dog-leg of path that led to the road. That was maybe 5 degrees off the vertical too, no more and I am not exaggerating. Dog went first, I did it on all fours.

Thank goodness for the dog. She certainly saved the last shreds of my sanity and what tiny bit of dignity I had left after this expedition.

Although, Holly couldn't see what all the fuss was about. A couple of times, I swear she looked at me in disbelief, thinking what a wimp, but she was excellent following all my instructions of *up*, *wait* and *pull*. She got extra hugs and treats, because I really couldn't have done this without her.

How did we get back down to the house? Round the very gradually sloping main road - on the other side of the road from the drop. It was a LONG walk. So, I've got grazed and bruised knees, I ache everywhere and it wasn't exactly elegantly executed, but I did it! I feel bloody stupid, but still justly proud. :)