by Alan Parks
At the airport I was unceremoniously dropped at the entrance and had to walk (limp) through to Departures.
At Gatwick Airport, once again my recent years in rural Spain were not a good preparation for what was to come. My flight was with Norwegian Air, a new budget airline who were having good things said about them. I found the desk and joined the queue.
After about 15 minutes, I noticed a sign saying, If you are checking-in, please use the automated machines, not the Customer Service desks. So, I sighed, left the queue and went to tackle the machines.
Once again, I was a bit bewildered. I managed to get to the home screen and tried to scan my passport into the machine. I got this message: If you do not have your booking reference, please go to the Customer Service desks. I didn’t have my booking reference, so I had to re-join the queue at the back. After another 25 minutes I was through, ready to face security, or so I thought.
I negotiated the London underground-style boarding pass scanners without too much difficulty, although my legs were still making every step difficult. I joined the queue for the security checks and before I knew it I was ushered through.
There were painted numbers on the floor, and a man in charge of his section was shouting to direct passengers to one of the numbers. “NUMBER ONE…NUMBER TWO…NUMBER THREE” he shouted, pointing towards the number he wanted us to go to.
The trays to put my belongings in were down by my feet, a strange place to have them as no-one knows they are there. The lady next to me even tried to put her stuff in my tray because she couldn’t find hers. A man behind the counter instructed us as to what to remove from our bags and place in the tray. I was feeling a little daunted and not really sure what was going on around me. I walked through the ‘beeper’ without it beeping and went to collect my things.
As someone who isn’t used to travel, I felt this was all overkill, and while I got through the security check faster than I remembered in the past, I couldn’t help wondering what it would have been like for someone who didn’t speak English; it must appear pretty frightening. There was a board where passengers were invited to write their comments, but it looked too far to walk in my condition so I decided against it. I took a deep breath and moved on.
I wasn’t in any state to explore the myriad of shops at the airport, so I just sat on a bench watching one of the screens, waiting for it to tell me the gate number. Once I had boarded the plane I was pleasantly surprised by the leg room I had. My knees didn’t even touch the seat in front, a rarity for me.
There is one thing available on Norwegian Air though that is both good and bad - Wi-Fi. The introduction of Wi-Fi in the air means that you only have to be away from Twitter/Facebook/WhatsApp for a matter of minutes during take-off and landing. The constant tapping of fingers on phones (me included) haunted the whole of the journey, although I must say, being able to use that service did indeed make the journey feel quicker.
I landed in Malaga and instantly could feel that the temperature was hotter than in the UK, and I had got sunburnt the previous day too. I made my way through the ever-casual passport control and it felt good to be back in Spain.
I’d already bought my return train ticket, as the man at Cordoba had assured me that if I needed to change trains it wouldn’t be a problem. I moved as quickly as I could through the airport and to the train station, but to no avail.
I missed the first train, so I approached the desk and asked them to change my ticket to a later train.
“Sorry,” said the man, “you can only change to earlier trains.”
So I was immediately another €27 lighter and not in a good mood. I had to sit around waiting for the next train, a 90 minute wait, and I knew Lorna was negotiating an appointment with the eye consultant on her own, plus having to drive Ricardo and Rita’s car. I just had to hope she would be OK.
Once I reached Cordoba I had to wait again, so I sat outside the station where I could find some shade. Eventually Lorna drove around the corner and I got in the car. I was back and my short ordeal was over.
Chapter 2 1
Geri
You may remember Geri from my first book Seriously Mum, What’s an Alpaca? She was the dog who came with us from Brighton to Spain to embark on this adventure with us. At the time, Geri was ten years old, and although not a spring chicken she was in good health and was a very active dog. When we lived in the UK Geri used to be at home while we worked, as is usual for UK dogs, and I remember having to shut all the doors in the house as she would raid rubbish bins and sleep in the beds. Once she even ate a whole box of chocolates (including the wrappers) from under the Christmas tree and a whole packet of Nicotinell chewing gum, both of which could have killed her. Luckily she had a stomach of iron.
From the moment we arrived in Spain, she made The Olive Mill her home, chasing cats, escaping under fences and generally being Geri.
Soon after we moved in, Carlos arrived at our door. We had always known this was a possibility as we had heard about the stray dog problem in Spain, but Geri had been a loner in the UK. She liked to play with friends and other dogs, until one time we went on holiday and left her in kennels.
I don’t know what happened during those two weeks, but she came out a different dog. She didn’t socialise with other dogs and she became even more territorial. The next time we went on holiday we found an amazing couple who lived ten minutes from us, who took in dogs when people went away.
The wife said to us, “Don’t worry she’ll be fine. I sleep upstairs with our dogs on the bed and my husband sleeps in the spare room with the dogs that are here on holiday.”
We arrived home to a truly spoiled and slightly rounder Geri two weeks later. She didn’t want to leave. After that we had some decking built at the front of our house and she used to patrol that as her territory, barking at anything or anyone that passed.
So, when Carlos arrived we worried how Geri would react, but they became best of friends. I’d always said that if we rescued dogs they could sleep outside, or at least in an outside room. But that changed when we had Carlos castrated and he picked up an infection. The vet told us we had to keep him inside for a while and Geri and Carlos became inseparable. They would follow each other everywhere, share food and sleep together in front of the fire, often with Carlos resting his head on Geri’s back.
Then Blue and Arthur arrived. Geri didn’t really know how to handle these big lumps, as they were already bigger than her when they arrived and so boisterous. She would watch them play-fighting and stand there next to them barking and growling, trying to tell them off. We were always worried she would get hurt.
A few months after we arrived, Mark and his girlfriend came to visit us. Geri was so excited to see Mark, she ran up and down the stairs, but all of a sudden she let out a yelp. Something had gone ping in her back leg and she had to have a cruciate ligament operation. It was a worry at the time as she was 11 years old, but we felt it was the right thing to do. She made a wonderful recovery, even using our pool for rehabilitation. The vet had warned us that the injury may put pressure on the other limbs and we had to be careful with her weight too.
We made visits to the vet when Geri had problems jumping up and down from the settee, often landing in a heap on the floor. He diagnosed arthritis in her lower spine and back legs, and gave us some pills. The pills were based on shark cartilage and Geri improved dramatically.
A year or so down the line, she hurt her other back leg. She was older now, and we were concerned that an operation would be too much for her. The vet prescribed some amazing anti-inflammatory pills and she actually recovered without the need for surgery. She had become a little slower and walked slightly unbalanced, but she was happy, pain-free and able to enjoy her walks again.
Fast forward another couple of years and we had started to notice a deterioration in Geri’s general health. Her movement became more laboured and we noticed that she seemed to have gone deaf. When the other dogs had a howling session, she would only join in
if she was awake and could see them doing it. She slept soundly and didn’t hear us opening doors, or calling her.
She was also slowly going blind. The main evidence of this was that when I used to give her her pills, I would use a frankfurter sausage (a trick used by the vet) and she would wolf it down, straight from my hands. As she got used to this, every time I lowered my hand near to her face, she tried to bite my fingers, thinking they were sausages.
We removed cushions from the settee, to enable her to get up and down more easily. We used to say that every morning she woke up it was a blessing that she was still with us, as we knew her time was coming. Secretly, I think we both hoped that one morning she would just not wake up and we would never have to make ‘that decision’.
***
Carlos was barking.
“I’m going to go and see what’s happening,” Lorna said to me.
I didn’t think any more of it.
“Alan. ALAN!” I could hear Lorna calling.
I leant out of the gate and peered around to see Lorna carrying Geri, tears in her eyes and Miliko and Carlos barking like mad.
I ran down to open the door and let Lorna in as she laid Geri on the settee.
“She’d fallen over and I think she hurt her front leg. She was in the sun too. Look at her breathing.”
I could see Geri’s chest inhaling and exhaling desperately. We offered her water but she refused for ages, until finally taking a few licks from the bowl.
Once Geri had calmed down, I tried to stand her up, but she was holding her front paw in the air; she couldn’t put any weight on it at all.
We always keep a supply of anti-inflammatory pills on standby just in case of minor injuries to the dogs, so we gave Geri one and let her sleep. We hoped it was just an impact injury and that once the pill kicked in she would be able to walk. She slept for ages, but when we came to check on her later she had tried to get off the sofa (we had put the cushions on the floor underneath, just in case) and she was asleep on the floor. The leg was still useless.
On the Friday morning we took Geri to see Manuel. He knew immediately that Geri had broken her shoulder bone. Her leg movement was all over the place. He advised us that we could take her to Cordoba to see an orthopaedic surgeon, have X-rays and the like, but she was going to need surgery. By this time Geri was sixteen and we both knew we weren’t going to put her through an operation at her age.
Outside the vets, Lorna said to me, “Shall we just go back up and have it done now? Would it be better?”
“No. Let’s take her home and try and give her a nice weekend and we can get Manuel to come to the house on Monday.”
So we took her home and made her comfortable. Manuel had given her an injection, so hopefully her pain was minimal. During that day we realised that it wasn’t going to be fair to wait until Monday. We had to lift her on and off the settee and help her when she needed the toilet and she was frustrated as she couldn’t move herself around.
Later that day I emailed Manuel and arranged to collect him on Saturday morning. Both Lorna and I knew it was the right decision, but it was a horrible one to have to make. Neither Lorna nor I had witnessed an animal being put to sleep before, so we didn’t really know what it was going to be like.
When Manuel came to our house the following morning he said to us, “Once you have made the decision, it is best to do it as soon as possible.”
Manuel explained that the drug would anaesthetise Geri and she would go to sleep, and then her heart would just stop and she wouldn’t wake up. Geri was lying on the sofa and Lorna was sitting next to her while Manuel gave her the injection. Geri didn’t even flinch. Slowly she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep and then her breathing just stopped.
“Is that it?” I whispered to Manuel.
He nodded to me in acknowledgment. I took a deep breath and splashed some cold water on my face.
It was very peaceful, and if that decision has to be taken again, I wouldn’t be afraid of making it. It is the final kindness we can do for our animals.
I left Lorna with Geri, while I took Manuel back to Montoro.
When I returned I gave Lorna a hug and we had a little cry.
“I think we should let Carlos and Miliko see her,” I said to Lorna.
Ever since we have had the alpacas, and seeing Lily mourn her lost cria, I have been more aware of the fact that animals also seem to feel the emotional pain of losing a friend.
We let Miliko in, he rushed in as he normally does, ran around and then jumped up, sniffed Geri and jumped back down again. Carlos, however, was different. He didn’t want to come in for a start. We had to carry him and then we lifted him up next to Geri on the settee. He wouldn’t even look at her and didn’t sniff her at all. I don’t know if he knew, or he was in denial.
A few days later, just as we were coming to terms with losing Geri, the weather turned and became monumentally hot, so we let Carlos and Miliko into the apartment in the afternoons for a siesta. One day, one of doors was open and Carlos had found the towel that we had laid Geri on while she was put to sleep. It had been next to the washing basket and he had pulled it out and was laying on it. We decided to give him the towel to sleep on for a few days to help him get over the loss. I hope it helped.
Chapter 22
Cats, Cats, Cats
Tummies began to appear on the three female cats around April time. Eeny, Meeny and Mo were all small, so our hope was that they would have very small litters, one, maybe two kittens at the most and numbers would not get too out of hand. At the beginning of May, one by one, the tummies disappeared.
“It looks like Eeny’s had her babies,” Lorna said to me, but there was no sign of where they could be.
Eeny would hang around in the evenings for her bit of food and then go off again.
A few more days later and Meeny had the same, hollow-looking tummy and we knew she’d had her litter. But it was the same story, absolutely no sign of the kittens. Occasionally Lorna took herself off to have a bit of a hunt, but she drew a blank every time. There were lots of hiding places around the farm.
Finally Mo appeared to have had her kittens. Days passed and there was no sign of any babies and the three cats seemed to be back into their normal daily routine, lazing in the sun, or curled up on cushions during the day. Occasionally we spotted a protruding nipple that seemed to signify that they were feeding kittens somewhere, but we didn’t know how many there were, or if indeed they were surviving.
Our first glimpse of the kittens came a couple of weeks later. Blue and Arthur alerted us to a faint mewing; it wasn’t loud enough to call it meowing, it was mewing. We went out to investigate and found two little bundles of fluff in a large wooden planter, just outside the kitchen door. One of the kittens was grey and the other was smaller and black. The black one had a short, stumpy tail. It looked as though their eyes had only just opened. After looking closely to see that both were OK, we decided it was best to leave them to it.
During the day we saw Mo visiting and feeding them, so we knew she’d had two kittens. Overnight the two little bundles of fluff vanished and once again we didn’t know where to find them.
“Little grey kitten is back outside.”
It was a few days later and I had spotted the little one on the patio area just outside our kitchen. This time the kitten was on its own. Hours passed with no visit from Mo, who we’d assumed the kitten belonged to. There was no sign of the black one we had started called Stumpy Jack, but we thought that maybe he hadn’t made it as he was very small and vulnerable. Later that day Mo reappeared, but seemed disinterested in her kitten.
“I’m going to see if I can get her to feed him,” Lorna said to me.
I watched through the window as Lorna sat on the step with some food, feeding Mo and trying to get the kitten to attach and have a feed. Every time Lorna tried, Mo would growl or move away; she didn’t want to know. We didn’t really know what to think. Maybe Mo hadn’t had enough milk and had not b
een able to feed them and that was why the little black one wasn’t here.
While Lorna was outside, Meeny appeared. Although we hadn’t yet seen Meeny’s kittens she seemed to take a shine to this one, laying down, licking its head and allowing it a feed. We placed a bucket under the veranda with a blanket in to keep the kitten warm and every so often Meeny would pop back and check on her.
The following day there was a loud meowing; the kitten mewed loudly in response and we saw Eeny come running. They ran towards each other in a joyful reunion before Eeny grabbed the kitten in her mouth and dragged her off. She was big for Eeny to carry and she got a couple of bangs on her head, but eventually Eeny disappeared with her behind the pool filter in an old pig stable. So we thought we knew where Eeny had had her litter. It wasn’t Mo’s kitten at all; that was why she didn’t want to know when Lorna was trying to make her feed.
The final reveal came once again from the dogs letting us know something was up. Miliko was going mad and Carlos was having a frenzied barking session, so I went out to see what was up, expecting to see the alpaca boys having a fight.
Miliko was pressing right up against some iron gates that are set at the end of a large cobbled terrace. The other side of the gates is where we keep our supply of wood for the winter. I walked up to the gate and looked through trying to find the problem and there was a tiny little ball of fluff right at the bottom, too close for comfort, especially with Miliko trying to get to it. I ran through the kitchen and out the other side and grabbed the kitten before it could get any further. It was shaking with fear or shock, probably both.
Right next to the wood pile is an old room; it’s very small and situated above a small stone stable. There are holes in the wall and it looks like it might have been a chicken shed or pigeon coop at some point. One year, Barb had had her kittens in one these small holes, so I grabbed my torch and peered in.
“Gotcha!” I exclaimed out loud.
