We Are What We Eat

Though Westies look quite robust, they are in fact hot-house flowers. They love their creature comforts; beds, cushions, throws and laps, and though they will eat any old rubbish that they find lying on the street I do have to watch their diet pretty carefully. I was used to two very sturdy collies before who could and would eat anything, bones, skin, chocolate and all.  They were hardly ever sick and I never remember either of them choking on a bone or any such nonsense.

Their creature comforts are important

It all started with Looki. When he came to live with us not only was he filthy dirty, but was suffering with a horrible ear infection, something that Westies are prone to and, as I am finding out, especially our Looki. So in the early days, after his initial vaccinations we found ourselves traipsing back and forth to the vet for various ear washes and antibiotic ointments.

He hardly had time to get over the ear infection when another disaster struck.  He got really bad diarrhea.  I tried to ignore it at first, hoping it would just go away, but when it alarmingly turned to pure mucous with blood in it I knew it was serious.  So it was back off to the vet again, this time with a parasitic gut infection. For this new ailment the treatment involved daily injections for a week plus several tablets a day, plus a sticky syrup that I had to sort of shoot into his mouth with a syringe, which he hated.

The Vet also told me that I needed to give him special food!  She told me to boil chicken with carrots for him and boiled rice on the side if you don’t mind!  And feed him with that.  I couldn’t believe it.  I used to smirk inwardly at friends who cooked food for their dogs.  I swore I would never pamper a dog like that, but here I was, once a week, boiling a chicken and making a lovely broth, then carefully picking the meat from the bones, because as everyone knows dogs should never eat chicken bones!  EXCEPT MY COLLIE DOGS USED TO AND IT NEVER DID THEM ANY HARM!!!!!

I started researching on-line and discovered that change of ownership is very stressful for a dog and their immune system can become depressed allowing the parasite to take hold.  So I had to build up his natural immunity.  Amongst other things he got chopped garlic, parsley and celery and even cinnamon to help him fight off this horrible opportunist bug. 

At the same time I was trying to train him as well.  This involved lots of treats as positive incentive and the programme was going very well, however, with his special chicken dinner plus dry dog food plus all the fatty treats our Looki piled on the weight and very quickly burgeoned from 9.5 kilos (which I think was slightly underweight) to over 11 kilos!  That was an alarming weight gain in a very short space of time and Looki was positively porky

Something had to be done!

As soon as he got better it was off to boot camp.  I cut back drastically on his food and when Vic came home for a spell we really put him through his paces with lots of long walks up to the forest.  By the time the girls arrived he was down to a respectable 10.5 kilos.

The girls moved in with the most amazing amount of paraphernalia; cushions, soft toys, towels, blankets, food bowls and a packet of West Highland White Terrier food.  It looked delicious, but there was no way we were going to be able to afford to feed three of them on that.  So I mixed it into our own cheaper supermarket kibble to wean them off it.  Of course I was also feeding them boiled chicken and veg.

So let me break down the dogs' menu and how it works with our daily routine:

We rise early and are off out the door by 7.30am.  We walk, sniff, tangle our owner up in leads. Do poops, lift our legs and sniff out the most dreadful decomposed rubbish we can find to scarf down, even though we are not supposed to have bones.  While on the walk we have several little stop off points when each dog sits and gets a tiny piece of a doggy treat each and get told that they are very good boys and girls even if they have rolled in other doggy poop or run off to try and shag the Lord Mayor's Shi-tzu.

Back home at around 8.00 and everyone has a pro-biotic yoghurt. This began while Looki was having his tummy troubles to help build up the friendly gut flora.  We also all have a teaspoon of coconut oil as my sister recently sent me a very interesting article outlining myriad reasons why it is good food for dogs, including guarding against gut parasites, preventing fungal infections, minimizing arthritis pain etc.  Looki downs his portion in one and then hovers around the girls for any remainder.  Kerry methodically laps her yoghurt and licks and licks until her plate is spotless.  Candy sometimes wolfs hers down and other times does not fancy it at all, other days she may just take a couple of nibbles and then I usually let Looki polish hers off.

At around eleven o'clock I like to have a cup of tea.  Looki loves the cup of tea too.  When he hears the kettle going on he trots out with a newly acquired swagger.  His head is held quizzically high as if to say "Are we having a cup of tea mum?"

I sit on the couch and drink my tea, very milky and with a spoon of local honey to help keep my Hay Fever at bay.  Looki lies on my feet.  I always leave an inch or so in the cup and the minute I put it towards him he sits to attention.  I hold the cup for him while he sticks his nose in right up to his eyebrows and laps up the tea that remains.  "That was lovely mum, thanks, burp!"

There is great excitement at midday as it's dinnertime for dogs. I pick up the three bowls and place them on the counter and the dogs gather. Candy feigns indifference lying on the ground close, but with her back to me.  Looki dodges under the kitchen unit with unconcealed excitement, I hear him tapping.  Kerry lies with her nose facing me and her two little almond shaped eyes watching me intently.

They each get a good dollop of chicken with seasonal vegetables, interspersed with lumps of cooked oatmeal, very good for Westie allergies, and a carefully measured scoop of dry dog food.  Looki darts out from under the cupboard and positively bounces up and down as I put his bowl down first.  At this point Kerry gets all excited too and starts her high-pitched barking and running around on her little clippy toes.  Candy is circling now too and both of them are straight in the minute their bowls hit the floor.

After their lunch they get my left over egg shells replete with the white which I really find terribly dull.  Candy loves them and crunches her way through her share, shells and all.  Looki likes them well enough, but is very messy and does not care so much for the shell, though he chews through some of it.  Kerry isn't bothered at all, but she doesn't like being left out, so after pushing hers around the floor a bit Candy moves in and devours her leftovers.  She then walks through the kitchen hoovering up any other shells left lying around by Looki.

Then they all sleep for most of the afternoon, just getting up at intervals to follow me around the house.

They start to agitate from around six o'clock as they know that suppertime is coming.  At seven they each get a carefully measured scoop of kibble.  Sometimes they get some leftovers chopped up and put in their bowl as well.  During the height of the summer growing season Looki acquired a thing for tomatoes and he would go out to help himself to the fruit off the vines.  I would gently wrest these free from his mouth and at suppertime I would chop the tomato up and divide it between them.  However I have since stopped giving them too much tomato as I think it was a bit acidic and Looki was becoming inclined to throwing up early in the morning.  I mentioned this to the vet the last time we were there with another ear infection and she maintained that he was throwing up because his tummy was empty.

So now at around eleven o'clock they all get a biscuit before bed!

The dogs follow me out to the kitchen while I rummage for biscuits.  Then back to the living room where I sit on the couch.  I make them all sit and give each one a biscuit that looks like a marrowbone.  They have a great time munching away on these.  Looki as usual has his down in a few seconds flat, but I make him wait for Candy to finish hers, then I give them each another smaller biscuit in the shape of a bone these go down pretty quickly and by this time Kerry has eaten her marrowbone biscuit in her own nibbly fashion and I offer her a bone.  She sniffs this and usually refuses it, so I break it in two and the two gannets get half each.

I'm sure they would not turn down a mug of Cocoa either.

And then it's bed time.  They don't need to be asked twice, there is a great flurry of white fur and legs and a stampede up the stairs as soon as I say the magic words:  "Anyone for bed?"

They sleep for most of the afternoon….

Only stirring to follow me around the house

Rockets at Dawn

This morning it was a holiday.  We had no builders in, so did not have to wait for them to arrive.  We struck off early for our walk.  Not early enough….

This town loves rockets.  Not just this town, the next town loves rockets, and the next one after that.  All of Spain it would seem loves rockets.

I don't and most dogs don't.

Looki is a stoic.  He spent so many years on his own in his tiny backyard talking to his poo.  Nobody came if he was distressed or lonely.  When the rockets or fireworks went off, which they do at every possible opportunity, he was probably just happy for the stimulation of something, anything.  I'm sure he even rejoiced if one of the rocket sticks fell into his yard.  At least it was something new to look at and sniff.

Candy is a barker (as well as a bit of fluff).  She gets all over-excited and unnecessary at anything really, dogs barking, cats mewling, cement mixers gurning and rockets going off.  She barks so hard sometimes that her front paws take off involuntarily and she does a funny half jump with her back paws  just lifting off the ground and then she pants and then she runs around chasing her tail for a bit till I tell her to "stop it off!"

Kerry is a lady.  Kerry hates rockets or big bangs.  When she is at home and they go off she makes a bee-line for the downstairs toilet where she hides behind the W.C.  There she stays until everything calms down again.  Then she creeps out, very warily at first, but when her confidence builds once more she is fine and seems to forget the whole trauma completely, until the next time.

This morning.  Up we got, stumbled down stairs, let the dogs out to sweep the garden for cats, me back upstairs to get dressed, shoes on and bag in hand, poo patrol in the garden.  Well yes, of course I stopped to remove a couple of weeds as well and stooped to stroke some of the more aromatic leaves in the garden.  These things cannot be hurried really.  I turned on the irrigation system, had one last squeeze and sniff of a delightful little Santolina and climbed back to the house calling out as I went "Who wants to go for a walk?" It’s a rhetorical question really as nobody ever refuses and I know that there will be an instant clamouring for harnesses and leads the minute my hand touches the tackle drawer even if I say nothing at all.

Today was no exception and we got suited and booted and were out the door by half past seven.  It was delightfully cool, slightly overcast and the men were washing the square so there was an extra burst of negative ions flowing with us as we took off down the street.

We usually make slow progress down our own road as it is the first interaction of the day with the outside world and the dogs have to sniff everything, every crumb, every urine stain, every pigeon feather.  I don't let Looki pee on the grumpy man's house, though it is the one house that I would really like him to pee on, but having been caught and shouted at one morning it is easier to comply now and just look with satisfaction at the yellow stains high and low that grace grumpy man's corner anyway.  I openly encourage him to pee on the parking ticket dispenser reckoning that as it is public property and I too pay my taxes we have a god-given right to do so.  I also think that other citizens would secretly approve of this mini-mutiny against authority.

We pass Bar Gabriel where the middle-aged owner with his lazy moustache and strange mullet, lately in a scary ponytail, greets us with a friendly smile and acknowledges the three Westies "Three for one!" is his standing joke.  'Round the corner past the house of our friends where Lola the Boxer lives, past the house where Tara the Rumanian Sausage Dog lives, past the top of the lane where Tango the Bodeguero lives with a giddy Dalmation and a Yorkshire Terrier, past the old peoples' day centre where Kerry once jumped up on the white clothes of the cleaner there and left the most embarrassing yet loving paw prints on the cleaning lady's knees.  We are both very wary now of any meeting.

And finally to the part-built housing estate 'Jorobado' where I can let them off their leads as there are no cars and some rough terrain for collecting ticks and depositing poo and also since about six months ago a yellow-sand park where Looki can pee liberally on every new weed and tree, Candy can run around like a lunatic and Kerry can roll in the yellow sand changing herself from white to yellow in a few quick moves.  I don't mind the sand, it is when she finds something more unmentionable to roll in that the 'Lady' Kerry is dragged home in disgrace.

There was no dragging Lady Kerry home today I might add. 

We had only been in the Yellow Park for a couple of minutes.  I was watching Looki very closely as he is the one who gets distracted by irresistible odours and has been known to dart off and not return when called.  While watching him I missed Kerry getting herself covered top to tail in a yellow overcoat and laughed out loud when I turned and saw her looking decidedly jaundiced with yellow powder all over her nose and whiskery face.  At that very moment there was a loud bang!  It is the Blue church's turn for letting off rockets at the moment.  We had some the night before and it turned the house topsy-turvy with  barking and quivering.  For a moment everyone was uncertain what to do.  For my part I was not sure which dog to grab first.  Then I knew that Kerry was the one, but my split second hesitation gave her the opportunity to make up her own mind and off she went like a……well, like a rocket.  I made a grab for her, but too late she was out of reach, so I thought quickly and at least managed to get the other two onto their leads and off we went in hot pursuit.  Me running, two dogs getting themselves all in a tangle, one spare lead that kept wrapping itself around my legs and a bag of soft fresh poo clutched in my sweaty hand bouncing dangerously.

Kerry was gorgeous, a bright yellow butter-ball on four short little legs in full flight, with her tum about two centimetres off the ground.  For her size and the length of her legs and her low centre of gravity she made good speed.  I realised with some hope in my heart that she was going back the exact route we had just come, so I had a good idea that she was headed home to safety.  I even risked a little shortcut, hoping I might cut her off, but she was too fast for us and being rather out of shape myself and also a little bit fat around the middle at the moment she fled on, spurred, I might say, by rocket after rocket going off, each one louder than the last.

This morning I cursed God, I cursed all the churches and I cursed all the Holy Joes that set off those blinking rockets at the drop of a hat.  Luckily the streets were pretty empty as the air was blue with my profanity.  Just past Bar Gabriel I met two elderly ladies, presumably on their way to mass.  "Did you see another little doggy like these two?" I panted at them.  "Yes" they said "she went that way, she was very scared."  "Thank you" I said and, "rockets" I said, by way of an explanation, though I hardly needed to as another volley went off at that moment drowning out the end of the word and I was sprinting onwards.  Finally we all turned the last corner and looked up our street.  I could see nothing, but we have a deep doorway to keep the rain off and I just hoped against hope that she had not taken a wrong turning and ended up in the notorious Bajondillo or Gypsy Quarter, which is notorious because it is where people go to buy their drugs.  Not a place I like to visit too often, though 8.00 am is probably the safest time as everyone has just gone to bed. 

My legs felt like lead and my heart was in my throat the last few yards up to the front door and there she was, our little yellow Kerry all squished right into the corner by the front gate.  She had made it all the way home by herself.  What a clever girl!

The Lady Kerry with her little fat tum and short legs,  resting after her panic had subsided

A Rose by Any Other Name

They are all similar it's true and there have been moments, especially when it is dark or I am too close to tell, that I have mixed them up and called Candy Kerry or Looki Candy or whatever.  They don’t really mind, though sometimes they look at me quizzically.  I have discovered that they totally recognise their own names.  When we are out walking and I call them back it's no good just calling out "Come on you guys!" I have to call them individually or they just don't hear me and keep on sniffing.  Well Looki has been known to actually ignore me anyway, not because he did not hear me but because he had other things on his mind and was more interested in the pretty little bitch in season who was swishing her tail in his direction…. but that is a story for another day.

Sometimes it's hard to tell them apart, or even where one ends
and the next begins

However, if we are loving each other at the time, they don't roll away from me in disgust just because I have called them by the wrong name.  In moments of intimacy they are happy to just take the love as it is doled out.  As long as I don’t stop rubbing their furry, little tummies I can call them whatever I wish.  They are not proud.

When Looki came to us I was not so certain about this name.  That is, I liked the name Looki, but when I actually saw his passport it said 'Lucky' on it.  How boring!  But Spanish people pronounce Lucky as Looki, so I have just kept the pronunciation and changed the spelling.  I don’t think he can read or write, so I don’t think he will find it particularly confusing either. It suits him, Looki, Looki!  Or Looki Loo, when he is being very sweet.  Though when you say that to a Spaniard he sees Lucky Luke in his head!  I did consider changing his name at one time, but now it is too late.  It makes no difference really though, he is as sweet as he is with or without a name like George or Brad.

After we had agreed to take the girls there was a period of about two weeks, while I waited for Vic to come home and also for Lynne and her husband to get back from the UK.  Kerry and Candy were in kennels and though I was aching to have them and hold them, Vic and I had agreed that we would only get them when we were both at home together.  It was important so that they would see us as a couple and as their new mum and dad.  We didn't want Vic to just be a visitor and we are up against that obstacle anyway with him coming and going.  We were both adamant that we should have a great big initial bonding session.  Which we did have and I think it has worked a treat for the girls are always all over him the minute he walks in the door.  Looki is slightly more reticent at first it is true, but then I am his Beatch!  And boundaries have to be re-established on every new homecoming.  I find it heartwarming that by the time Vic is off again Looki's attitude to him has changed and he sort of hangs around with Vic like one of the boys!  I bet if he could open a can of beer and put his paw up at the bar, he would.

During the waiting period I researched changing a dog's name because, to be totally honest I was not that struck on the girls' names either.  However, what I read, much simplified, was this: If a dog comes from a bad home, it is a good idea to rename him as he associates that name with his former, hard life.  However on the opposite side of that coin, if a dog comes from a good home, like our two little girlies, then it is better to keep their original names, so that they can keep fond remembrances of their old life.

I studied the ways of training them to a new name, but as the weeks went by it became less important to change their names to something that I considered a perfect name and in fact why should I?  They had names and when I day-dreamed about their little whiskery faces and having girly conversations with them I slowly started to like their names.  When they did come to live with us and we met them for the first time, well I had to admit that their names suited them pretty perfectly. 

I have often wondered about names.  Do we subconsciously pick names that suit our children or pets or do they grow into the names that we give them?  The great nature/nurture debate.

Looki Loo is a big happy-go-lucky slob.  He is lovely and lucky, well, not so lucky in a past life, but now he trots along as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Kerry is like a fussy mother hen.  Her name is mature and womanly and fits her personality.  She is a nag and a fusspot. Kerry can be snippy at times, but only to keep her errant children in line.  That includes me by the way and the little 'dolly' that came with her from her old home.  Her little Dolly is a stuffed toy dog with flappy ears.  Most of the time she lies discarded on Kerry's bed or on the couch, but every so often Kerry goes to look for her, grabs her and nearly shakes the poor creature to death first, but then lies almost in a trance with the dolly in her mouth, sucking and every so often just twitching her head almost imperceptibly.  It must soothe her.  I wonder if she yearns to be a mum or if she was taken from her own mum too soon.  I don't know and never will I suppose

Candy, as her name might suggest, is a bit of fluff; Candy Floss or Cotton Candy. Though near enough the same age as Kerry she is the perpetual teenager.  The baby of the bunch, she will never grow up.  She is smaller and lighter than the other two and when she looks at you with her head cocked ever so slightly to one side and her bed-head hair all over the place she has a slightly spaced out, quizzical look, like the proverbial deer caught in the headlamps or as my daughter pointed out on her first meeting with the girls "She just looks stoned all the time!"  

Fuss-pot Kerry, Space-cadet Candy, Big old slob Looki Loo

….and Then There Were Three

We have been building this house for near enough seven years now.  What was supposed to be a quick in and out job, all organised and paid for, legal and above-board turned into one of those hideous con-jobs that one reads about in women's magazines.  I won't bore you with all the details, but it was the reason that we were in no position to take a dog before Looki. By that time things were starting to settle down, we finally had a house of sorts and I also could finally turn my attention to finding a job, which thankfully I did.  Stability was returning to our lives.

We still have some huge bills to pay and for that reason Vic still has to work away.  We could not pay off what we owe or do the bits and pieces of finishing work that we are currently doing based on what he or I could earn in Spain.

So I spend quite a lot of time on my own in this house.  Well, not on my own now it is true and when Looki came our way, well, staying in, reading a good book and rubbing his shaggy head became a very pleasant option.  That's not to say I became a hermit.  I still like to go out to meet 'The Girls' on a Friday night, or if I spontaneously bump into friends in the square who say "Sit down and share a glass or two with us" I willingly oblige also.  As a result I have been known to come home a bit squiffy from time to time and then, like a lot of people in the privacy of their own home and without harm to anybody else, I might surf the 'net a little bit, you know what I mean, a little bit of FaceBook and some YouTube and after another nightcap or two I got quite fond of viewing 'Westie Porn'!

There is no other word for it really.  Type in 'Dirty Westies' and see what images come up!  I trawled all the sites;  'A Dirty Westie is a Happy Westie', 'Burrs in your Face', 'We are Digging Dogs', 'I'm a Westie. Take me Home!', Etc etc.

I found myself drooling over little Westie pups.  Soooooo cute!  Like tiny, spiky snowballs with teeny, black eyes and rather large, black noses.  Anyway I did feel that Looki needed a little buddy to keep him company when I had to go to work.  Whenever I was going out he would trot hopefully through the house after me, then hang back a bit, hovering in the kitchen, ever hopeful that I would call him and put his collar and leash on and invite him to come with me.  I hated that look he gave me, like a lamb with its throat slit, as my friend Marisa put it one evening when we were out sharing a couple of drinks and tapas.  So though I had not yet mentioned it to Vic I was seriously considering another Westie as I had by this time fallen head over heels in love with Looki and the breed.  And this is the girl who said that she would only ever have Collies by the way!

It was around the end of March when my dear friend Jane dropped a 'share' photo onto my FaceBook page.  "What do you think Mary Gregoriy?" It said.

It was of two shaggy Westies, mirror images of Looki.

Two little Westie girls were looking for a new home as their mummy and daddy were relocating back to the UK and travelling shortly thereafter to live in Malaysia.  They could not take the girls with them.

I looked at the photo of two little scraps who looked exactly like Looki.  They were lying on an oriental rug very similar to the one in our own living room and they looked gorgeous!

I rang the rescue centre which had posted the original photo and expressed my interest. I was told that apparently the owners were adamant that the sisters would not be split up.  So we couldn't just take one of them.

There followed a flurry of correspondence between Vic and myself throughout the course of the day.  He was surprised and asked me if this was not just some whim.  That was when I had to admit my guilty little 'Westie Porn' secret.  He did mention that I could get help for that and then, being a sensible chap, he asked me had I considered the implications of taking care of three dogs and, as I would be doing it on my own for a lot of the time, how would I walk three at a time? I had thought about it and I did think that though it might be challenging at times I thought that with practice it could be done. 

I also had several conversations with the two women who run the JAWS rescue centre in Jimena, close to where the dogs were living, the lovely Valerie and lovely Harriet, they were of course urging me to take the girls though I didn't really need encouraging.

And I spoke to the mummy of the two little doggies, Lynne.  We spoke for a while and though she was telling me about her dogs she was also listening to me talk about Looki and our situation here and was working out whether we were the right people to take their girls.  Plainly she and her husband had a great affection for them and she was making sure that we would love them and care for them.  I was just delighted that she saw us as the right family to entrust her babies to. Their names were Kerry and Candy. 

My mind was made up by this time, but I was hanging on to hear Vic's final decision.  Eventually, at the end of a very long, exciting and emotionally exhausting day the man from del Monte, well, he did say yes!

It must look strange from the outside that after six and a half years of careless coupledom we suddenly went from being childless to a family of five inside of six months, but I had been yearning for a dog for several years and Vic, though he had never owned a dog before, was equally keen and somewhat curious as to what it would be like to have a dog in the house.  Neither of us foresaw that we would have three West Highland Terriers charging around our heels like a pack of miniature sheep even before the house was completely finished, but we opened the book, turned the page and the chapter was called: 'Three Westies', not one.

Westies just landed