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