A naked dog is delivered from Spain

Sunday night 7.30pm standing at the side of the road waiting for our new Spanish hairy parcel to be delivered.

Blind date but slightly different.

If there was no spark, no “click” then like it or not he was lumbered with us and we were lumbered with him.

I can confirm this does not enter your head when you click “SAVE” on Facebook when you see a dog that is about to get put down for no reason other than no-one wants him. Sob. Wimper. Snot.

The transport up from Spain had a Messenger Group so we had been able to track their progress and enjoy the photos of other people as they scooped up their own hair deliveries the length and breadth of the country and now it was our turn.

The big white van pulled up, the paperwork was handed over to us, the side of the van slid open and  our new hairy charge“Terry” emerged in the arms of the guy who had driven him – and 25 others – up from the South of Spain dropping them off enroute one and one and two by two. The arc of mongrels.

Beagles, a German Shepherd, a few cute hairy mutts, an English setter – all death row escapees all driving home for Christmas (Cue Chris Rea  – actually don’t- I want to get on with the story -)

The unsuspecting sausage dog was all togged up and  there to meet the van too.

Advice was to walk the new and old dogs around a bit before going in. We followed instructions and watched as Terry – who was taller and longer than he looked during our brief observation online – padded along, sniffing the air with the most magnificent tail, a virtual aerial, with a wee kink on the end swooping back and forward.

God knows how long in the perrera (death row), 3 days in a kennel, 3 days in a van and still he was smiling. A born optimist. A good start.

Once in the garden we let them off the lead and Charlie the sausage, the long suffering husband and I stood and watched as Terry took off like a rocket, running in circles, swooping round, tail wagging, sniffing the grass, running fast and long and as fast as he could, skidding to a halt just before he hit the wall – literally – turning and screeching back again – joyful.

Opening the kitchen door we went in, followed by Charlie then the new boy in town.

Alpha male and female, followed by top (if not small and low slung) dog and then Terry. Following instructions learnt on YouTube from a variety of sources.

We watched as he found and slurped all the water in the dish and then padded about the place having a good look and sniff round glancing at us periodically in case we were angry, upset or liable to throw him out again.  All he saw were cheesy grins.

Thinking ahead – unlike us to be fair – we had taken the precaution of putting a gate – looks like a child gate between the kitchen and the lounge with an additional tiny gate in the middle. Our reasons were two fold.

1. If Charlie found it all a bit much  – being an only sausage up to this point – then he could slink through it and away from Terry for some peace and quiet.

And

2. We had no idea what Terry would do!  Chew a chair? Crap on the rug? Attack us with his rather magnificent looking teeth? We all needed to be separated if necessary.

Charlie looked a little grumpy and so to remind him had a mini get out gate like the one pictured here.  I opened it. He looked at it. Smiled. And slunk through in a pleased as punch way which was short lived as Terry – forcing his bony hairy considerably larger self into the considerably smaller aperture – he pushed his way through the tiny gate within a gate too – tada! There he was on the other side too.

I would sell him to the circus as the contortionist dog if I wasn’t already a little bit in love with him.

A cheeky optimist.

Tomorrow or first day……I will report back.

 

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Christmas parcel – one Spanish mongrel – enroute to Scotland.

So here I go again.
Large mouth.Dog mad.
Heartbroken to see a photograph of a little hairy galoot online that was on death row in Spain because someone didn’t want him anymore. I followed the post for 2 days.
He was at the head of queue for the big nasty jab aka death and so I said “I’ll take him!”
And so ….he is on his way.

How old is he? Em…between 6 months and 12 years.
How big is he? Em…between small and huge. What’s his temperament like? Em….looks waggy but really can’t say.

Instincts having been dog mad since I was born are he looks like a gentle, hairy, cheeky mongrel with an extraordinarily waggy bahookey.. What do you think?

So his year thus far has consisted of… being chucked out from wherever he was and left in the kill station.
Then last minute reprieve sprung from death row.
The following morning off to the vet to have his bollocks removed. Ouch. What a high! What a low! What a shame. All within 24 hours. Gulp.

Next before he could draw breath and work out where the vet was that took his manhood, he was off again, this time to a foster home in Spain til his health check.

Happily he was given a clean bill of health which meant he could travel once his innoculations, rabies and passport is sorted.

And so he arrives here in Scotland on Sunday. No not the paper obviously.

From kennel, to vet, to foster carer, to kennels a 6 hour drive away as the Spanish authorities want to check he is who they say he is. So he stayed for 3 days being prodded and checked again. And now – right now as I write this he is on the pet transport with a host of other wee homelss, unloved dogs being dropped off all over England and Scotland. He will arrive here on Sunday night, it will be dark, very very cold, colder than he has ever imagined, he will be hungry, stressed, scared to death – he has no idea where he is. He arrives with no blanket, no collar, no bed, no real identity.

Suspicious. And for good reason.

And so we await. With bated breath. A new lead and collar. A TK Maxx bed tucked into a crate where he can sit and watch his new family before deciding when he wants to come out and say hello. In one corner he will see a suspicious sausage dog whose nose will be very out of joint. In another he will see a big bummed Aberdonian with a biscuit in her hand. We will report back as to how it goes…I have to confess this is a lovely Christmas parcel on it’s way….lets hope he thinks so too……

 

Wish us luck! It’s going to be a very Terry Christmas.

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