Ain't nothing but a hound dog...

Of all the headaches associated with trying to move ourselves out to Bosnia, by far the biggest (and I mean by a really really really long way) is the dog. I have spent hours of my life and been responsible for the destruction of half of Brazil's remaining rain forests in my quest to work out how to get Jess from the UK to Bosnia and eventually back again. I have talked to Embassies, Vets, Animal Export agencies, Animal Import Agencies, airlines, ferry companies, Bosnian Vets, Bosnian government agencies, UK Embassy in Sarajevo - you name it, I've listened to their Musak. We've spent a small fortune on various jabs, blood tests and general vet bills. I've emailed (in English and Bosnian/Croatian - no small feat here as my Bosnian is limited to ordering beer) people in the know in Bosnia and Croatia to confirm that when we turn up to their border with our EU pet passported pooch in the back of the car they will not turn us away.

To remind myself of why we are making this effort to get our dog out to Bosnia, I thought I would take advantage of the gorgeous afternoon and take her and the boys out for a walk. It was lovely, they played, fought dragons and hunted dinosaurs in the woods. She frolicked, gambolled and looked like a Pedigree Chum advert. As we neared the car to go home, I momentarily took my eye off her and lo and behold she disappeared. 10 minutes later she reappeared covered head to paw - I exaggerate not here, she was completely covered - in fox poo. She stank. By the time we got home the car stank and the boys had learnt a whole lot of new ways to say you smell really really nasty.

I hosed her down with particularly cold water and whilst taking particular pleasure in getting the stuff off her face realised that she had no idea that this was not the way to repay your owners for their efforts.