by Parks, Alan
As he drove off, I said to him, “Any problems, bring her back here.”
We both went inside, Lorna in tears and me subdued.
“He punched her in the head,” I said.
“We shouldn’t have let him have her,” she replied.
It is so difficult to know what to do, and language is a real barrier in these situations. After about half an hour of us sitting quietly not talking to each other, we heard a horn tooting outside. I went to see what was happening: the old man was back letting New Girl out of the car.
“Not my friend’s dog!” he said in his farmer’s Spanish, and drove off.
I called Lorna out and New Girl ran to her, jumping and kissing her. I tore down the posters on the fence, and we put her back in the stable. We didn’t know what to do next but I certainly wasn’t going through that again.
About two weeks later, New Girl was still with us. Lorna and I were due to return to the UK for a couple of days, so my aunt and uncle had come out to look after the alpacas and the dogs. They were here for a few days to learn the ropes before we went, and one afternoon we were sitting on the terrace enjoying a drink. A car pulled up outside, so Lorna went to see what was happening. A man with three children got out and asked about a dog. Lorna’s Spanish is worse than mine but she let them in and called up to me that she thought he might be New Girl’s owner.
When Lorna opened the gate, New Girl went nuts, jumping up and down and throwing herself to the ground, bottom in the air with tail wagging. Instantly we knew she was this family’s dog. The man tried to give us money for her food, but we refused. We were just so happy to see her reunited with her owners and to see how much she loved these people. My aunt and uncle were cheering on the terrace - it was a stereotypical happy ending.
Little Pup found his way to us in the middle of a storm. The clouds were closing in around us and the sky was darkening, so I had decided to run around and quickly feed the alpacas and the chickens and batten down the hatches. As I stepped into the barn out of the rain there he was, Little Pup, shivering in a corner, soaking wet and tiny. I think he must have been a terrier of some description. I left him there and ran back to tell Lorna.
“You’ll never guess what, there’s a puppy in the barn,” I said.
“Oh no. Don’t let me see him, you know what I’m like.”
“OK. I’ll give him some food and water for tonight and tomorrow I’ll ask around and see if I can find his owner. If not he will have to go to Cordoba.”
The next day I took Little Pup out with me and asked some of the locals as they passed, but no one claimed ownership. After a few hours and no luck, I told Lorna, “I’m not going through this again for weeks, I’m going to take him to Cordoba. Hopefully he is small enough to find a home.”
So into Cordoba I went and lied through my teeth to get him a place in the shelter. The girl behind the counter spoke English, so this time I told her I was driving to a friend’s house nearby and found him on the road. She just took him off me through the door to the office, no forms, nothing.
Now, to fully understand the story of our most recent strays, Saturday and Sunday, I will have to digress and talk about Frank, the car. Ever since our initial problems with Frank and his engine breaking down, he has been a loyal servant to us and has only been off the road for brief periods, namely for an alternator change and a new battery. For a while, though, Frank had been vibrating. Well, to be honest, shaking us to bits. Sometimes as we drove up the hill to Montoro you would have thought we were going to take off. A few months before, we had seen Keith.
“That sounds like a bearing that needs changing, don’t leave it,” he said.
But we did. Money was tight and was spent as soon as it came in, on vet’s bills or animal food. So the rattling was getting worse.
One day, a man and his son asked me to come and tow their car out of the mud that had formed on the track during the recent rains. So out I went and after that, the car was even noisier. The next time we went to Zumba, Lorna noticed that Frank sounded terrible, but I dismissed it.
“It will be OK,” I said.
We got to class, and I went shopping as usual. On the way home on the motorway, there was a clunk, a loud one, followed by a dragging sound, another clunk, and then nothing.
I pulled over quickly. At a standstill, the engine seemed fine and the automatic gearbox was working, so I put it back in gear and pulled away. While we were on a hill all seemed fine, but as we levelled out there was no power and we gently ground to a halt.
Luckily, insurance in Spain comes with breakdown cover included so I made the call. I spoke to someone in English and they said a tow truck would be out in an hour or less. After about 35 minutes, someone phoned in Spanish. My Spanish is bad at the best of times, but on the phone and in stressful situations it is very bad. I managed to explain where we had come off the motorway, a few hundred metres away from the junction. The unusual thing for us was that during the time we were waiting, over an hour in total, no less than seven people pulled over to ask if we needed any help. There were old people, young people and even the man who we buy our hay from. That is definitely something that wouldn’t happen these days in the UK.
It was another 30 minutes before we saw the orange lights of the truck. The driver pulled over in front of our car and eventually lumbered out of the cab. He nodded a greeting in our direction, and asked the problem.
“No lo sé en Español,” I said, meaning I don’t know how to explain in Spanish.
He looked underneath at a pool of oil that had formed and basically implied that the car was dead. I tried to explain that I wanted to take it home and then we would get our friend to come and look at it in the morning. He shook his head at me.
“No, no - se necesita un garaje en Montoro.” (No, no - it needs a garage in Montoro.)
He said he was going to phone the office so somebody could translate. After a few more minutes, he passed the phone to me.
A very nicely spoken man said, “The driver just wants to confirm that you want to go to your home, and not to a garage. He said he doesn’t want to be called tomorrow to collect you from the campo and take the car back to Montoro.”
“No,” I said. “I understand that if I choose to go home and then it needs to get to a garage that will be my problem to organise.”
“Oh no,” he replied. “If that happens, call us back. We will organise it for you, it is all covered. I will explain to the driver to take you home.”
The driver grunted to the man on the phone, looked at us, and said, “¿Dónde?” Where?
So we directed him towards our house. After every few hundred metres, and a new instruction to turn left or right he would sigh, each time a little louder. When we turned on to the track, he pulled over and said he wouldn’t go on. After a little coaxing, he phoned his boss, and although, we didn’t understand the whole conversation, we got the gist that his boss said, “Just do it, get rid of them; it will be easier and less trouble.” So we crawled along the track so as not to damage the precious truck and at about 10.30 pm pulled up outside the Olive Mill. After getting me to sign his papers, the tow man drove off in a huff. He was indeed the grumpiest Spanish man we have encountered during our time here.
The following morning Keith came out and told us the prop shaft had fallen off. It wouldn’t have happened if we had replaced the bearing when he told us to. The cheapest way would be to order one second-hand from the UK and get it delivered. So I scoured the Internet, and managed to locate one in the UK which would be sent ASAP, although it would take a week. We hoped it would arrive Tuesday morning and Frank would be up and running to drive in the evening for Lorna to get to her Zumba class. That would entail cancelling only one session. Tuesday came and Keith phoned to say the part had arrived, but he couldn’t fit it until Wednesday. So we desperately called our good friends, Chris and Sally, and begged for a lift to town. Thankfully they were very helpful and came and collected us and brought us home again, sayin
g, “If you have any more problems, give us a shout.”
On Wednesday Keith came over to fit the part. He arrived mid-afternoon, his normal laid-back self, and proceeded to invite himself in for a coffee. After an hour or so of chatting and gossip he ambled out to the car. Two minutes later, I followed.
“Doesn’t fit Alan. Too short.”
“No! What are we going to do now?” I asked.
“You’ll have to order another one,” he said. “Let me know when it comes, and I’ll come and fit it as soon as possible.”
Keith jumped in his car and off he went. I went back in to tell Lorna.
“You’re not going to believe this.” I said. “It doesn’t bloody fit. We’re going to have to phone Chris and Sally again, beg for a lift to Zumba, and get some shopping while we're there. I’ll look again online and try and get one delivered quickly.”
Back on the Internet again, this time with the search narrowed to include the measurements for the part, I managed to locate a part in Yorkshire. I emailed the chap to confirm size and whether he could deliver it to Spain.
“Sure,” he said, “if you email me before 12 on Friday, I’ll send it out before the weekend. Delivery is only 2 days via UPS.”
So, of course, I emailed back, saying ‘Yes, send it, and I’ll pay the cost of shipping as long as it was going to arrive by Monday’. This time I asked for it to be delivered to Jorge’s pharmacy, and contacted him to tell him to let me know the minute it arrived!
Friday midday came and went with no reply and then of course it was the weekend and still I heard nothing. On Monday morning I received an email saying it would be sent out that day. I was, of course, annoyed but I went along with it - after all, the delivery was only supposed to take two days so that would mean Wednesday. Another call to Chris to take us to the Tuesday night class and we were covered. Wednesday came and went, so I went on the net to trace the package. In Germany! It had taken two days for it to get to Germany from the UK.
By Friday, the parcel had arrived in the centre in Jaen, but seemed to have not been sent out to be delivered that day. I emailed them. They said that the address given did not match that of the pharmacy but now they knew that was where it was supposed to go, they could deliver there on Monday. Monday! Another weekend stuck without a car! I phoned Keith to tell him the news, but he couldn’t come until Wednesday again due to other work commitments. We arranged to collect the parcel from Jorge, and get Chris and Sally to take us to Montoro once again on Tuesday night. By this time we had been stuck for over three weeks, and having to rely on others is not something we are used to. All we could do at the weekend was sit at home and wait.
On the Saturday we got up late as it was cold, and when it’s cold the best place to be is tucked up in bed. I went to let the chickens out and check the alpacas. Outside the gate was perhaps the strangest looking dog I have ever seen. He was a ginger and white puppy with cream ‘socks’ on his legs, and two ears that pointed up and curled over at the top. He came running over to us, and then ran back to a car that was parked outside while, I assume, the owner worked on the olives. I didn’t think much more of it.
A couple of hours later I went back out. The car was gone but the little pup was still there. Oh no! I went and told Lorna and said that it had been so cold I didn’t feel I could leave him outside. So I brought him in and put him in Geri’s old crate with some food and water. I shut the door of the barn so it would be dark and hopefully he would sleep. As I left, he started wailing like a small child. It was a terrible noise.
We couldn’t keep him, as financially we just couldn’t cope with any more animals, but of course our car was off the road and we couldn’t take him to Cordoba. “I’ll try and talk to some of the locals in the morning,” I said to Lorna in bed that night. “Hopefully someone has lost him.”
First thing in the morning, the same man was outside working on the olives, burning the branches and trimming the olive trees. I went and introduced myself and managed to ask about the dog. He said he had fed it the previous afternoon, but it wasn’t his.
“Go and ask Ramon,” he said.
So I trekked over to Ramon, shook hands as always, and proceeded to talk about the dog.
“No, not me,” he said. “Have you asked that guy over there?”
“Yes, not his either.” I said, and told him that we couldn’t take any more dogs.
Ramon shrugged his shoulders, “This is Spain, this is what happens. If you don’t want him, just kill him and dig a hole and bury him. No mas problema.” (No more problems.) He made a gesture drawing his finger across his neck.
“No,” I replied, “I’ll take him to Cordoba.”
That evening and the following morning, I fed the pup and let him have a run and a play but every time I put him back in the crate, he whined. I was seriously trying to think of a way we could afford to keep him as I didn’t think he stood much chance of finding a home at the shelter. I even considered starting a fund on Facebook for people to donate for his upkeep.
“You’re not going to believe this,” I said to Lorna while gazing out of the window at the seemingly endless rain. “There’s another one.”
“Another what?” she asked. “Another bloody dog! Bloody people. There’s a little Jack Russell type puppy down there, running up and down the track.”
We looked at each other. “Well, he might as well go in with the other one tonight.”
Although I couldn’t let him stay in the cold overnight, it made the decision about Saturday easier. There was no way on earth we could take in two more dogs: they would both have to go as soon as the car was fixed. Two dogs in two days, just dumped. Hence the names, Saturday and Sunday.
Frank did indeed get fixed on the Wednesday and we were back on the road after nearly a month, but sadly my first job was to take the two dogs to the shelter. I was prepared to lie again to get them in, so I said I lived in the campo de Cordoba and luckily they took both of them. I hope they both found nice houses to live in with decent owners. I wish there was a way to get through to the Spanish about neutering their dogs as it would save an awful lot of distress, especially for the ex-pats.
I thought I had lost them forever, my people. I had gone for a walk on my own and I saw another dog, so I chased him, he was lovely. By the time I got to his house, his man was there and he threw a bottle of water at me and told me to go. I turned around sad, but when I got out of the gate I didn’t know where I was. Then, out of nowhere, a lady came up to me with a small, ginger boy who was very nervous. I thought they looked nice so I followed them. When they got to their house, they went inside, but left me outside. I was a bit sad, but then the gate opened and the lady came back with some food. I jumped on her and said thank you. They let me sleep in their stable; it wasn’t very warm but better than outside. One day they let me in to play with other dogs, but the big one jumped on me. I don’t think he liked me.
After a few days, they came to get me from my room and took me outside. A man was there, but I didn’t know him. He tried to tie me to the back of his car, but the lady untied me. Then he threw me in the back of his car. I tried to tell the lady that I didn’t want to go with this man, but he punched me in the head, so I sat quietly. I was sad to leave the lady.
The man took me to someone else’s house, but he didn’t want me either so we went back to the nice lady’s house. After a few more days, I could hear a voice and it sounded like my man’s voice. I started barking, I was trying to tell the lady that my man was here. Then she opened my door, and there he was, my man and his little people. I was so excited. I jumped on them, and lay on the ground at their feet to tell them how pleased I was to see them. Then they took me home, I was so happy. I thought I would never see them again. Thank you to the nice lady for looking after me.
New Girl
Chapter 26
Cordoba in Springtime
Anybody that knows us, reads about us, or talks to us, will have realised by now that we love living close to t
he city of Cordoba. It is a beautiful place, rich in Andalucian heritage and was once the ruling city when the Moors governed this part of the world. Moorish influences can still be seen all over the city, nowhere more than in the fabulous Mezquita. This was a mosque, built when Cordoba was ruled by the Moors, and later on a Catholic cathedral was built right in the centre. It is an amazing mix of old and modern, both in culture and architecture.
Springtime in Cordoba is a fabulous time, when the warm night air is rich with orange blossom, and the locals enjoy all manner of festivals and celebrations. First of all, at the start of May, is the Festival of the Crosses (Cruces de Mayo), followed quickly by the Festival of the Patios (Los Patios) This is when the residents of Cordoba throw open their front doors and invite tourists to come in and look at their (often elaborate) courtyard flower displays. At the end of May they have their feria, which lasts for a week, but preparations before and after take much, much longer.
This year our attention had been drawn to an all-night extravaganza called ‘The White Night of Flamenco’. At this time, the best of the best in the world of flamenco would be in Cordoba performing on stages around the city, and all for free. We decided this was too good an opportunity to miss as, of course, Lorna loves dancing. We decided to invite Justin and Kim to come and spend the weekend with us, as we had been promising to do so and this gave us the perfect excuse.
The White Night is normally held on the weekend of the longest day of the year, and therefore the shortest night, and shows start around midnight and go on every hour, culminating in a big concert on the site of the Roman bridge. That starts at 5.30am and if you can last that long, there is also a churros stand that does brisk business during the event.
I had spent a few days researching, pulling schedules from the Internet and downloading maps so that we would know where we wanted to be, and at what time. Justin and Kim made the journey arriving in time to grab a quick swim and a siesta before getting ready for our evening out.