During the war here many people couldn't manage to feed their dogs so had to set them free to fend for themselves. This combined with a patchy government strategy for dealing with dogs means that there are a lot of strays around here. Really a lot.
For the past couple of months we've been sort of looking after one of them. Or, more accurately, she sort of attached herself to us, and we couldn't resist her. It's difficult to say what sort of dog she was, bit of German Shepherd certainly, but finer featured and not as big. Either way, she was a real gem of a dog. Calm, even tempered and ever so sweet she played hard with Jess and was calm with the boys. We wormed, ticked and flea-ed her, fed her some proper food and she began to shine. If we went to the shops she would come too, just touching our hands with her nose to let us know that she was there, then she'd wait patiently outside the shop for us to come out before trotting back proudly and beautifully to heel.
She won our confidence over time and I began to trust her. She was allowed to come inside the house in the evenings, but still slept outside. A couple of times we asked if she wanted to get in the car to come for a walk with us, but she didn't fancy that idea much, preferring to do her own thing during the day.
She could get in and out of the garden at will and settled into a routine of heading off to do whatever it is that dogs do in the morning and coming back in the afternoon. Occasionally I'd come across her on the other side of town (having crossed at least 2 major roads to get there). She'd come over to say hello, but again wouldn't want a lift in the car so we'd go our separate ways and she'd come back later that day in time for supper. We tried to block the escape route up, but she would just take it down again, not really wanting to be totally domesticated just yet. In many ways she was living the doggy dream, a house when she wanted it, but also the freedom to do whatever she wanted when she wanted it.
We asked around a bit and the slightly mad, dog obsessed bloke over the road (he of the tendency to put raw bones down the back of his trousers) knew some of her history. He remembered her litter, estimating that she was about 15 months old and had spent her life on the streets. No one owned her or was responsible for her, but he had christened her Belle, so Belle she remained.
We began to talk seriously about whether we were going to adopt her or not. Taking her back to Britain would be no mean feat, Jess is fully PETS passported up, but to get a stray dog onto the scheme would cost a fair bit of money and take a lot of time. We'd have to do things like Fed-Ex blood samples to the UK, that type of thing. But Dave went out one evening with both dogs, neither on the lead, and one stayed to heel the entire way whilst the other expensive pedigree dog that has had years of training had to be hauled out of the neighbours bins at least twice. We weren't sure about having 2 largish dogs in the house, but she was winning us over.
We haven't seen her for over a week now. This is very unusual, she was always one to be back in time for supper. The weather is cold and snowing, she would be looking for some warmth if she could. Maybe she'll turn up one evening looking for a treat, but I doubt it. She may have been hit by a car, the hunters that are occasionally employed to curtail the stray population may have got her. Possibly she found another family to take her in, maybe she just decided to hang out in a pack rather than with some humans. We don't know what has happened to her, probably never will.
I do miss her. Belle. I hope that you'll be back soon, tonight maybe? I desperately hope so, but deep down I doubt it; I think if you could have come back, you'd have been back by now. I hope you are warm and safe somewhere. But most of all I hope you enjoyed your time with us, I hope we made a difference to you. We will never forget you.
Showing posts with label dog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dog. Show all posts
Monday, 14 December 2009
Monday, 6 July 2009
Driving me potty no longer
Attempts to potty train: 4. Successful attempts to potty train: ONE! And that one is the one that counts. Remarkably this last attempt was surprisingly easy, a fairly smooth transition to not wearing nappies, one or two accidents and that was it. He now asks for his potty or to do a ‘standing up wee Mummy’ (the joys of having an elder brother) and he hasn’t had an accident in over three weeks now.
The standing up wee aspect is interesting. Outside, when you can get their trousers down, stick a knee in his back to encourage the thrusting forward of hips and help with guidance of the pee stream it works well. Inside the house is a different story; he is just not quite tall enough to use the loos at home for a standing up wee, which means that I need to do an interesting lift and hover manoeuvre, doing wonders for my biceps but I can’t help with the pee stream guidance aspect of the process. But who cares? He isn’t in nappies and the wee ain’t in his pants.
The ease of this attempt of potty training makes me think two things. First, the attempts made before were just too early for him, he wasn’t quite ready. Secondly, these attempts were all part of the overall process and contributed to this, more recent and relatively stressfree attempt. I couldn't care less now though, Luke has done it, he is a total superstar and I’m so proud of him.
Only one interesting story to report. A few days ago he had a quiet moment on his potty, happily reading his book, so I left him to it. When he appeared there was strong evidence that he had done a poo. He was very pleased with himself. A bottom needed wiping. There were signs of a poo having been in the potty. But there was no poo. Anywhere. I looked high, I looked low but couldn’t find anything. I’ve been wandering through the house delicately sniffing any areas which might be capable of concealing poo. But nothing. Absolutely nista. Not a sniff.
The poo is still M.I.A. I will be doing a more thorough search before the cleaner comes but I don’t think I’ll locate anything. The dog was spotted, contentedly licking her lips just afterwards. I’m not saying anything, but it wouldn’t be the first time.
The standing up wee aspect is interesting. Outside, when you can get their trousers down, stick a knee in his back to encourage the thrusting forward of hips and help with guidance of the pee stream it works well. Inside the house is a different story; he is just not quite tall enough to use the loos at home for a standing up wee, which means that I need to do an interesting lift and hover manoeuvre, doing wonders for my biceps but I can’t help with the pee stream guidance aspect of the process. But who cares? He isn’t in nappies and the wee ain’t in his pants.
The ease of this attempt of potty training makes me think two things. First, the attempts made before were just too early for him, he wasn’t quite ready. Secondly, these attempts were all part of the overall process and contributed to this, more recent and relatively stressfree attempt. I couldn't care less now though, Luke has done it, he is a total superstar and I’m so proud of him.
Only one interesting story to report. A few days ago he had a quiet moment on his potty, happily reading his book, so I left him to it. When he appeared there was strong evidence that he had done a poo. He was very pleased with himself. A bottom needed wiping. There were signs of a poo having been in the potty. But there was no poo. Anywhere. I looked high, I looked low but couldn’t find anything. I’ve been wandering through the house delicately sniffing any areas which might be capable of concealing poo. But nothing. Absolutely nista. Not a sniff.
The poo is still M.I.A. I will be doing a more thorough search before the cleaner comes but I don’t think I’ll locate anything. The dog was spotted, contentedly licking her lips just afterwards. I’m not saying anything, but it wouldn’t be the first time.
Thursday, 9 April 2009
Who'd be a dog in Tuzla?
Up in Ilincica, the hills behind Tuzla, are some lovely walks and a restaurant. I've become quite friendly with the owner, who thinks that my daily walks up there with 2 small boys and a dog are quite bizarre but forgives us because we are English and therefore a bit odd.
As we parked up there the other day I noticed a bundle of fur by the side of the road and sure enough there were 3 bewildered rather frightened puppies. They were tiny, cannot have been more than 6 weeks or so old and certainly not old enough to be taken away from their mother. I asked the restaurateur where they had come from. 'A car came by about 5 minutes ago' he said 'they threw them out of the car'. I looked at the puppies again, a boy and 2 girls, one of whom had obviously got a broken leg.
I took my motley crew for a walk whilst I considered the options. Adam was very curious. Where did the puppies come from Mummy? Why don't they have a Mummy? Who is going to look after them? Why did the man throw them out of the car? I could feel myself getting angrier and angrier at the way in which some Bosnians treat their animals. How could they abandon these dogs like this? Luke was enchanted by them, and kept trying to return to them.
It became obvious - I couldn't leave them there. They would die, and slowly and painfully. I'd heard rumours that there was a dog home in Tuzla, something I didn't know about in previous episodes with abandoned puppies. We would take the puppies and we would find this dog home. It would be our afternoons adventure. The boys were thrilled.
When we got back to the car there were only 2 puppies. The restaurateur confirmed that the one with the broken leg had died, which I wasn't surprised about. So we found a box, put the puppies in the back, gave them some bread (all I had in the car), and set off. They were as good as gold. Not a whine, cry or whimper. Up the hills we went pursuing leads, on tracks which were definitely intended for a 4x4 and our Ford Mondeo estate was skidding around all over the place. I was rather scared (driving is not my forte) but in the end encouraged on by my 2 Lewis Hamiltons in the back, we crawled up a hill and there it was. The dog home for Tuzla. Battersea Dogs Home it was not. But it was a dog home and it was somewhere that these puppies might be cared for*.
I found the owner who was not keen. The home is for adult dogs only. For a moment I started to panic. I'd taken on these puppies, there was no way I could abandon them now. But they obviously had an element of German Shepherd in them and were going to be big dogs. Adopting 2 strays would not be a way to make my life easier. I have heard incidences of people adopting a Bosnian stray and for it to be a real success. But on the other hand a friend of mine took on a puppy from Sarajevo and he what could be termed a real handful, chases and kills chickens, sheep, cats, anything that moves. No, I really couldn't take on any more dogs.
With a combination of deliberate non-understanding of the I will not take these dogs phrases, consistent presenting of these two tiny, shivering, adorable pups and repeating the story that they had been thrown out of the car, as well as promises to get in touch with a journalist friend in Tuzla to see if we could get some more exposure for the shelter, I persuaded her to take them.
I'm going to head back up there on Sunday to take some food for the dogs. It will be a drop in the ocean, there are at least 350 dogs there, but every little helps. She told me she has very little help, very little money and doesn't know what to do. This being Bosnia I've heard other stories from other people including that she had a link with a Dutch organisation who gave money but it disappeared. Certainly, the shelter is a long way off the standards that would be required to call it humane. But it is there, and that is a whole lot better for these 350 dogs and 2 puppies than facing the hunters.
******
*Adam over at Balkan File had a post recently including some pictures about a similar dog home just outside of Belgrade in Serbia. There he gives a contact for anyone wanting to contribute towards the running of the home. I'd love to do something for this dogs home, but there is obviously some back story that I'm unaware of. If anyone has an idea about how to help please leave me a comment!
As we parked up there the other day I noticed a bundle of fur by the side of the road and sure enough there were 3 bewildered rather frightened puppies. They were tiny, cannot have been more than 6 weeks or so old and certainly not old enough to be taken away from their mother. I asked the restaurateur where they had come from. 'A car came by about 5 minutes ago' he said 'they threw them out of the car'. I looked at the puppies again, a boy and 2 girls, one of whom had obviously got a broken leg.
I took my motley crew for a walk whilst I considered the options. Adam was very curious. Where did the puppies come from Mummy? Why don't they have a Mummy? Who is going to look after them? Why did the man throw them out of the car? I could feel myself getting angrier and angrier at the way in which some Bosnians treat their animals. How could they abandon these dogs like this? Luke was enchanted by them, and kept trying to return to them.
It became obvious - I couldn't leave them there. They would die, and slowly and painfully. I'd heard rumours that there was a dog home in Tuzla, something I didn't know about in previous episodes with abandoned puppies. We would take the puppies and we would find this dog home. It would be our afternoons adventure. The boys were thrilled.
When we got back to the car there were only 2 puppies. The restaurateur confirmed that the one with the broken leg had died, which I wasn't surprised about. So we found a box, put the puppies in the back, gave them some bread (all I had in the car), and set off. They were as good as gold. Not a whine, cry or whimper. Up the hills we went pursuing leads, on tracks which were definitely intended for a 4x4 and our Ford Mondeo estate was skidding around all over the place. I was rather scared (driving is not my forte) but in the end encouraged on by my 2 Lewis Hamiltons in the back, we crawled up a hill and there it was. The dog home for Tuzla. Battersea Dogs Home it was not. But it was a dog home and it was somewhere that these puppies might be cared for*.
I found the owner who was not keen. The home is for adult dogs only. For a moment I started to panic. I'd taken on these puppies, there was no way I could abandon them now. But they obviously had an element of German Shepherd in them and were going to be big dogs. Adopting 2 strays would not be a way to make my life easier. I have heard incidences of people adopting a Bosnian stray and for it to be a real success. But on the other hand a friend of mine took on a puppy from Sarajevo and he what could be termed a real handful, chases and kills chickens, sheep, cats, anything that moves. No, I really couldn't take on any more dogs.
With a combination of deliberate non-understanding of the I will not take these dogs phrases, consistent presenting of these two tiny, shivering, adorable pups and repeating the story that they had been thrown out of the car, as well as promises to get in touch with a journalist friend in Tuzla to see if we could get some more exposure for the shelter, I persuaded her to take them.
I'm going to head back up there on Sunday to take some food for the dogs. It will be a drop in the ocean, there are at least 350 dogs there, but every little helps. She told me she has very little help, very little money and doesn't know what to do. This being Bosnia I've heard other stories from other people including that she had a link with a Dutch organisation who gave money but it disappeared. Certainly, the shelter is a long way off the standards that would be required to call it humane. But it is there, and that is a whole lot better for these 350 dogs and 2 puppies than facing the hunters.
******
*Adam over at Balkan File had a post recently including some pictures about a similar dog home just outside of Belgrade in Serbia. There he gives a contact for anyone wanting to contribute towards the running of the home. I'd love to do something for this dogs home, but there is obviously some back story that I'm unaware of. If anyone has an idea about how to help please leave me a comment!
Friday, 27 March 2009
Bosnian strays
The number of stray dogs in Bosnia is a recognised problem. There are a lot. Around Tuzla you occasionally see packs of them, 10 or more, roaming together looking for food. They can be quite frightening, incidents of packs of dogs attacking people in the Balkans is not uncommon (another Balkan blogger Balkan File recently wrote about some dog attacks in Belgrade). The way the Bosnians deal with them vary. Many just ignore them. Others semi-adopt a dog, leaving it food, setting up shelter. Some of the strays are so well fed they will turn up their nose at substandard offerings (note to Jessie, you do not actually have to eat everything that is edible just because it is there). There are so many dogs and puppies that it is difficult not to lose your heart to at least one. Dog Homes are few and far between, and those that are around are poorly funded and unsupported by the government. Susan Johnson's article in Animal Welfare Institute Quarterly tells me that despite many peoples best efforts to persuade governments otherwise, the official government policy to deal with dogs basically consists of the periodic rounding up of the strays and killing them.
We often go up to the hills behind Tuzla, to the woods of Illincica to walk with the boys and Jess. There are a couple of strays who live up there and we've sort of made friends with them. One had puppies back in October and three of them survived the coldest part of the winter. Everytime we saw them, they seemed well fed, sociable dogs always pleased to see new people but not so confident as to be a pain. I had a particular soft spot for one of the puppies, a lovely, shy, leggy lady always wanting to please.
As Jess has been recovering from Lyme's Disease, we hadn't been up to Illincica for a while. This week, the snow melted, the sun came out so we ventured back up there. I didn't see the dogs. So I asked the owner of a restaurant up there where they were. The hunters came, he said. I told them not to, but they shot them anyway.
Sometimes I find this country very difficult to deal with.
We often go up to the hills behind Tuzla, to the woods of Illincica to walk with the boys and Jess. There are a couple of strays who live up there and we've sort of made friends with them. One had puppies back in October and three of them survived the coldest part of the winter. Everytime we saw them, they seemed well fed, sociable dogs always pleased to see new people but not so confident as to be a pain. I had a particular soft spot for one of the puppies, a lovely, shy, leggy lady always wanting to please.
As Jess has been recovering from Lyme's Disease, we hadn't been up to Illincica for a while. This week, the snow melted, the sun came out so we ventured back up there. I didn't see the dogs. So I asked the owner of a restaurant up there where they were. The hunters came, he said. I told them not to, but they shot them anyway.
Sometimes I find this country very difficult to deal with.
Monday, 16 March 2009
A Fat Dog
Two trips to the vets later and it looks as if we have managed to stop the Lyme Disease in its tracks. We caught it early and Jessie is now bouncing around, has yellow pee and all is on the mend.
However, the vet did stick Jess on the scales and we have discovered that she now weighs 6kg more than she did in August when we arrived. A whole 6kg (that is approaching 14 lbs for the less metric minded amongst you). This is a whole lot of weight on a dog.
We knew that she was getting fatter, and were not surprised. In the UK she would usually get 2 hours of walking every day. Here she gets just one; the walks are not as energetic and she seldom meets a dog who wants to play which is the best from of doggie exercise out there. We had been restricting her food accordingly, giving her very few scraps or little extra doggie treats.
To our great surprise she carried on getting fatter. We really restricted her food, the recommended amount for a dog was 400g a day, Jessie has been getting 260g. But still the weight was piling on.
The trip to the vet clinched it for us so we went out and truly investigated what she was up to when she was sniffing around in the garden. And the results surprised us.
Jessie has developed her own network of friends. Many of them buy food for her and toss it into the garden for her 'second breakfast', 'post lunch snack', 'post post lunch snack' etc. One woman was buying her a LOAF of bread every day - I couldn't help feeling that really her 1km per day could be a lot better spent than feeding our overfed mutt, but each to their own. Our neighbours have been throwing scraps out of their window for her, which includes a small mountain of potatoes, extra meat and the odd vegetable. Jess isn't fussy, she hoovered up the lot.
I talked to everyone I could. I explained that the vet had told us off because she was fat, fat retrievers are much more likely to get arthritis and could they please, please stop feeding our dog. She would love them just as much as she did before, honest. She might even stop barking at the neighbours window to get them to give her food.
On the whole most people agreed. One neighbour though looked pained. And asked if he could just carry on feeding her one thing. And he held up an enormous jar of boiled sweets bought just for her.
No wonder she is on the podgy side. The diet is on.
However, the vet did stick Jess on the scales and we have discovered that she now weighs 6kg more than she did in August when we arrived. A whole 6kg (that is approaching 14 lbs for the less metric minded amongst you). This is a whole lot of weight on a dog.
We knew that she was getting fatter, and were not surprised. In the UK she would usually get 2 hours of walking every day. Here she gets just one; the walks are not as energetic and she seldom meets a dog who wants to play which is the best from of doggie exercise out there. We had been restricting her food accordingly, giving her very few scraps or little extra doggie treats.
To our great surprise she carried on getting fatter. We really restricted her food, the recommended amount for a dog was 400g a day, Jessie has been getting 260g. But still the weight was piling on.
The trip to the vet clinched it for us so we went out and truly investigated what she was up to when she was sniffing around in the garden. And the results surprised us.
Jessie has developed her own network of friends. Many of them buy food for her and toss it into the garden for her 'second breakfast', 'post lunch snack', 'post post lunch snack' etc. One woman was buying her a LOAF of bread every day - I couldn't help feeling that really her 1km per day could be a lot better spent than feeding our overfed mutt, but each to their own. Our neighbours have been throwing scraps out of their window for her, which includes a small mountain of potatoes, extra meat and the odd vegetable. Jess isn't fussy, she hoovered up the lot.
I talked to everyone I could. I explained that the vet had told us off because she was fat, fat retrievers are much more likely to get arthritis and could they please, please stop feeding our dog. She would love them just as much as she did before, honest. She might even stop barking at the neighbours window to get them to give her food.
On the whole most people agreed. One neighbour though looked pained. And asked if he could just carry on feeding her one thing. And he held up an enormous jar of boiled sweets bought just for her.
No wonder she is on the podgy side. The diet is on.
Wednesday, 3 December 2008
She is one lucky dog
Jess doesn't get to come with us to luxurious hotels, Instead she gets a dose of her own sort of luxury as she goes to stay with various people, and is pampered, preened, made a fuss of and generally has a whale of a time.
This weekend she stayed with some friends who found on the internet a recipe to make doggie cookies, which they proceeded to do. These cookies look like the real thing. They have cinnamon, apple, honey and oatmeal in. Jess has been happily munching on them ever since. Now she has had a taste of the way life can be, she is not impressed with the daily fare served up at home.
This weekend she stayed with some friends who found on the internet a recipe to make doggie cookies, which they proceeded to do. These cookies look like the real thing. They have cinnamon, apple, honey and oatmeal in. Jess has been happily munching on them ever since. Now she has had a taste of the way life can be, she is not impressed with the daily fare served up at home.
Tuesday, 18 November 2008
Jessie - gdje si?
Jess has quite taken to being in Bosnia. We have a bit of a garden surrounding the house and she is fond of patrolling her territory, barking at the cats and trying to persuade our neighbours that she is never fed and would indeed like some of their dinner. She has spent many happy hours watching the world going by and making friends with passer-bys.
That is until recently, when she discovered how to escape from our previously escape proof garden. Given her freedom she is off scavenging around the dustbins, which is her idea of heaven. When I catch up with her it is quite a sight; the spoilt, pampered, pedigree pet and local strays hanging out together. She's becoming more adventurous too, venturing further afield with each foray into the great unknown. I've enlisted the help of quite a few local residents to help find her on several occasions now, everyone enjoying the drama.
She is showing a hirtherto unsuspected degree of cunning nous by not escaping whilst we are watching her so we cannot work out how she is getting out of the garden. Until we do and utterly fed up of looking for her, she is being kept, much to her displeasure, firmly indoors.
That is until recently, when she discovered how to escape from our previously escape proof garden. Given her freedom she is off scavenging around the dustbins, which is her idea of heaven. When I catch up with her it is quite a sight; the spoilt, pampered, pedigree pet and local strays hanging out together. She's becoming more adventurous too, venturing further afield with each foray into the great unknown. I've enlisted the help of quite a few local residents to help find her on several occasions now, everyone enjoying the drama.
She is showing a hirtherto unsuspected degree of cunning nous by not escaping whilst we are watching her so we cannot work out how she is getting out of the garden. Until we do and utterly fed up of looking for her, she is being kept, much to her displeasure, firmly indoors.
Monday, 22 September 2008
is there a professional dog groomer in Tuzla?
Jessie has had her first trip to the vet. Entirely my fault as well. Finally pushed to do some grooming I had to resort to using scissors to get rid of the matted hair around her ears. After a few glasses of wine I probably wasn't as careful as I should have been and caught her skin under her ear. An enormous (thankfully shallow) cut opened up that looked really nasty.
Off to the vet we go. Jess usually loves the vet. She can't wait to get through the doors and then generally precedes to behave really badly, harassing the vet, the technician, the receptionist and anyone else in the waiting room for the treats that she knows are somewhere. She wags her tail, actually she wags her whole body, at the vet and goes into ecstacies of excitement as the vet approaches.
She soon discovered that the Bosnian vet was not quite the same. They took one look at her, got three men, held her down, muzzled her and in rapid succession applied iodine and all the other type of things needed to make her better. Jess was horrified... 'but but but' I could see her muttering 'I'm an English dog! I don't do three men and a muzzle! I do gentle soothing words! I don't do PAIN at the vets!'
The cut is now fully healed. It only cost us a small sum unlike the fortune we would have to be claiming on our pet insurance if we were still in the UK. It was quick, effective and pretty brutal. Jess has to have her booster jabs next month, we shall see if she still bounds into the vets office which such enthusiasm then.
Off to the vet we go. Jess usually loves the vet. She can't wait to get through the doors and then generally precedes to behave really badly, harassing the vet, the technician, the receptionist and anyone else in the waiting room for the treats that she knows are somewhere. She wags her tail, actually she wags her whole body, at the vet and goes into ecstacies of excitement as the vet approaches.
She soon discovered that the Bosnian vet was not quite the same. They took one look at her, got three men, held her down, muzzled her and in rapid succession applied iodine and all the other type of things needed to make her better. Jess was horrified... 'but but but' I could see her muttering 'I'm an English dog! I don't do three men and a muzzle! I do gentle soothing words! I don't do PAIN at the vets!'
The cut is now fully healed. It only cost us a small sum unlike the fortune we would have to be claiming on our pet insurance if we were still in the UK. It was quick, effective and pretty brutal. Jess has to have her booster jabs next month, we shall see if she still bounds into the vets office which such enthusiasm then.
Thursday, 31 July 2008
including the kitchen sink
I might have lied about the fact that we managed to fit our whole life into the back of our estate car. Turns out that that was only the first part of what we need to take. We had to go and buy a roof rack, enormous roof thingy and we still can't fit everything in and the ferry is first thing tomorrow morning. And the dog has rolled in something so disgustingly whiffy that the indescribable smell will infiltrate the whole car for the whole of the hot, stifling 3 day journey to BiH. Mm mm. Really looking forward to this one.
Saturday, 28 June 2008
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
