In the opening days of January 2017, I collected 3 Spanish Dobermanns and brought them to France. One of those was Juglia(Jessie) who was to spend 3 months in the care of Sharon in the Dordogne before she caught the eye of an equestrian centre owner in Provence.
So it was that on the 12th of April I collected our girl for the long journey to her new home in the south east. I left home in the afternoon, the journey is too long to do in one day so I planned to make just a 3 hour stint on that first day. This would leave me time to complete the delivery the following day and get back to where, on the 3rd day, I was to collect Sultan.
Our first stop therefore was at a routier next to an airfield shortly before the town of Figeac. Apart from being an excellent place for me to eat, it also provides opportunities for long walks with dogs across the vast, but closed in the evenings, landing area.
Juglia was no trouble and happily tucked into her evening meal before our first constitutional. Then it was my turn to eat, I have often been here before and appreciate not only the 4 solid courses, but also the soup which preceeds them, affording me the opportunity to indulge in that delightful tradition of the SW, chabrol. For the uninitiated, and that includes the majority of French people in other areas of France, this involves leaving the dregs of the soup in the bowl, tipping in a little red wine, and sipping the contents directly from the bowl, delicately held in both hands. Any trace of stain on the shirt front is definitely frowned upon! But it is delicious.
Once satisfied internally, I returned to the car and walked Juglia again before we both settled down in our various beds.
Once satisfied internally, I returned to the car and walked Juglia again before we both settled down in our various beds.
Off again at 7.30 in the morning we traversed, at first in the early morning mist, Figeac, Decazeville and Rodez. Then turned right over the col to Millau. I don't take the viaduct unless urgent, too expensive. In any case the drop down into, and through, Millau is not too much of a chore. And the climb up the Gorge of the Dourbie the other side is spectacular. Then over the moors to join the free A 75 south for just one junction to turn east through Le Vigan and Ganges to Nimes. South on the rocade towards Arles then east again past Marseille, making sure I didn't make a previous mistake by taking the wrong lane and ending in the centre of that city! On that occasion, the GPS, which I use sparingly, really came into its own leading in and out of impossibly narrow streets but then along a spectacular elevated roadway overlooking the harbour.
Not this time, onwards towards Frejus before veering north east into some really wild country. The roads were narrow and winding, though well surfaced, and affording some really good views of red rock overhangs and glimpses of limitless vistas.
Eventually I turned right down a narrow track which, after 10 or 15 minutes, opened out into a small parking area and a paddock with some horses in. On the left a horse was gently trotting around in a circle on a lunge rein with a trainer as the hub.
I was greeted by some women who approached cautiously with a black Alsatian cross, unleashed. I handed over the documents and then unloaded Juglia but made sure to keep her on a lead until the introductions were made and we were safely in a fenced compound. There the 2 dogs showed interest in each other but no more and we relaxed as Juglia explored the area. This included a magpie in a cage at ground level. It didn't appear to be injured and I wondered why on earth anyone would keep a wild bird in a cage. Juglia put her nose close to the mesh and the bird appeared unconcerned, they are intelligent birds and perhaps might have behaved differently if the mesh had not been there.
Then time to leave and I drove slowly after turning as a rider moved off the track to let me pass, and stopped as another came down it, waving in thanks.
My destination now was a routier at Fos sur Mer, just the other side of Marseille and about an hour and a half away. It was on an industrial estate supposedly adjoining the one where I was collecting Sultan in the morning. I say supposedly, because it was on a very large estate, adjoining another, and the one I really wanted was quite some way distant and was really a conservation area with 2 units plonked in the middle of nowhere. It took me at least half an hour to find in the morning and then more than another half hour to actually get the dog on board. The whole, frustrating but comic episode is contained in this video, which I have edited down to 7 minutes from its original 21.
My destination now was a routier at Fos sur Mer, just the other side of Marseille and about an hour and a half away. It was on an industrial estate supposedly adjoining the one where I was collecting Sultan in the morning. I say supposedly, because it was on a very large estate, adjoining another, and the one I really wanted was quite some way distant and was really a conservation area with 2 units plonked in the middle of nowhere. It took me at least half an hour to find in the morning and then more than another half hour to actually get the dog on board. The whole, frustrating but comic episode is contained in this video, which I have edited down to 7 minutes from its original 21.
No sooner had I got back onto the road than I was faced with this bizarre sight.
Finally once again on the road home, a mirror image of the outward journey, including the short deviation to drop Sultan off at Sharon's in the Dordogne.
I say a mirror image, but there was an interruption at Decazeville, a puncture on the left hand wheel of the caravan. I was just approaching a roundabout and managed to pull onto a short stretch of pavement to change the wheel. Still a bit too close for comfort to the road but the job was soon done. It did though make for a later arrival at Sharon's but I did make it after warning Andy of the delay. An isolated incident but a warning of things to come, a week when they happened one after the other.
4 weeks later Sultan was back on the road again. Adopted. Back down the same road, but this time the eastward swerve was at Nimes to the commune of Aramon, on the banks of the Rhone, near Avignon.
4 weeks later Sultan was back on the road again. Adopted. Back down the same road, but this time the eastward swerve was at Nimes to the commune of Aramon, on the banks of the Rhone, near Avignon.
The address was unclear, well there were 2 very similar ones and, finding myself up a cul-de-sac which was obviously not the right one, I phoned and was met by the family at a supermarket nearby. A short follow and we were at a house in a forest, deceptively near to a large factory. I parked between the trees, for I was to eat with the family and return to the caravan for the night. First of all Sultan, welcomed with open arms, was introduced to the resident Dobermann girl, Eva, and I made my re-aquaintance with her.
For it was for Eva, some 4 or 5 years earlier, that I had left home at midnight to take charge of her north of Nantes from the breeder who had agreed to relinquish her rather than kill her. I have never got over my surprise that he gave her up and, indeed had travelled some way to meet me, because he had obviously not treated her well. He was late at the rdv he had chosen in the centre of a small town, and so I had waited with the doors to my car and cage open ready. When he arrived he astounded me by opening his van to allow her out entirely unrestrained. I wasn't worried for more than a few seconds however. She shot out like a bolt from a gun, ran round in a great arc, giving him a very wide berth, and straight into my car and cage where she lay down, determined that she wasn't coming out again and near him for anything. I took her straight to a foster home in Bordeaux and stayed the night there with a very hospitable family, including 5 Dobermanns.
Now at Aramon, she approached me carefully at first, and then with enthusiasm. With Sultan she was less sure, but there was no animosity and, by the time I left in the morning, they were cohabiting contentedly. As it turned out later, Sultan was less than amicable with the other 4 legged members of the family. The rabbit thumped angrily from inside his hutch after being driven there by our boy's furious charge at the surrounding wire, and the chickens, gerbil and cats suffered similar trauma in the days to come. Incorrigible as he was, Sultan soon had to leave this place but we will catch up with his story a little later.
At 7 o'clock on the dot the next morning I pulled out of the forest and headed, first towards Avignon, and then due north up the Rhone valley past Orange and Montelimar to Valence. There I took the rocade east to Romaine sur Isere where I turned north again. This journey was marked by my GPS failing, gradually at first then almost completely, enough to drive me back to my traditional maps. The only thing it was good for was as a compass, at least I always knew which way was north. Just like the old days I made my way on more minor roads past Beurepaire and the ancient town of Cremieu to my destination at Vertrieu. At Beurepaire I was hampered by the centre being completely closed for a market, but, on consulting the paper map discovered an even better route from then on. A bit tight in some village streets with the caravan though. I had chosen this route determined to avoid the twin hates of Vienne and Lyon. The first hosts the worst traffic jams ever along the riverside, and the second the worst conglomeration of dizzying autoroutes that I know.
Talking of narrow streets, Vertrieu was no pushover either, in fact the street I wanted was permanently closed from both ends. I did, however work my way around into a small square at the far end where I found enough room to park. The house I wanted was very old and built of stone. The front door was at the top of some steps and led off a very small balcony. I recognised it from this photo of poor Jarro, sent to us in advance.
Talking of narrow streets, Vertrieu was no pushover either, in fact the street I wanted was permanently closed from both ends. I did, however work my way around into a small square at the far end where I found enough room to park. The house I wanted was very old and built of stone. The front door was at the top of some steps and led off a very small balcony. I recognised it from this photo of poor Jarro, sent to us in advance.
The story was that his elderly owner was going into a flat or a home and couldn't keep him with him. The lady, who didn't answer the door but greeted me through an open window, re-directed me to the bar at the end of the street. The barman answered to the name I had and certainly wasn't old or infirm. At first I was suspicious but later thought that perhaps he was in fact acting on behalf of his father. It was a hot day and I gladly accepted the offer of a beer, before he led me to Jarro who, though I had not seen him, was tied up outside the bar. We walked together to the car where Jarro willingly jumped inside the cage. Then we were off.
My planned route home was via Bourg-en-Bresse and Macon, very familiar to me from my old 80s days of lorries to Italy via the 'Blanc', before the motorways were built. Nostalgic for me, even perversely for the night when I went over the Alps with a knackered alternator and toeing and heeling to keep the lights on when slowing for bends. At Savona I exchanged it for another in a back street shop and replaced it myself. I don't do that 'stuff' these days ;-).
Then on past Moulins, Montlucon and Gueret to Limoges. I had thought to park up near Gueret at a routier I know there, but we made such good time that it was impractical. To arrive at 5.30pm in France involves a long wait before dinner and the severe temptation to indulge a little too much in the aperos. Of course I could have walked the dog, but for an hour and a half?
I could have made it home, but that would have meant delivering Jarro at Sharon's well after 7pm. Too late. So we went on to the Centre Routier at Limoges. Excellent food at this popular spot, but lousy service. I once waited over an hour for my main course order to be taken. They must maintain the standard of the cuisine by scrimping on staff, sometimes only 2, maximum 3, to service the bar and serve on average 50 to 100 diners. Still, beggars can't be choosers and we found a quiet spot at the far end of the lorry park, small enough for me not to take a place which could have served a larger vehicle. It was very hot though, not least because the sun was blazing through the windscreen. There was no way I could leave Jarro in this but I saw that within the hour the sun would dip behind a tree and so with all the doors open wide I read till it got cooler. Then another short walk after his dinner and I left Jarro to settle down while I plunged into the culinary fray beyond.
In the morning a one hour run to drop J off, witness a masterclass in how to get a frightened dog to conquer his fears, a few photos, and then, home.
Within a week, Sultan was my passenger again. His family had firmly believed that, due to having conquered similar behaviour before with Eva and another Dobermann, they could train Sultan out of his predilection for attacking small furry creatures. They had judged wrongly, and, as they were soon to take a holiday, had to 'solve' the problem without delay. Their son, who I had met there, actually lived in Toulouse and visited at the weekend, so it was agreed that he would take Sultan back there with him on the Sunday in the hope that PAD had someone who could collect him. I am not normally available at the weekend but fortunately they found a foster home in the city which was prepared to look after him overnight. So it was that I arrived in this narrow and heavily parked street soon after midday. The pressed bell on the gate soon brought an answer and the large gates were opened to allow me to drive right inside. Although there were buildings all around the large house had a very private garden, well fenced with hedges and a small but, in this heat, very inviting swimming pool.
While sat outside with coffee, I watched as Sultan constantly patrolled up and down the fence line, sometimes disappearing from view amongst the foliage there. It was explained that they had rongeurs next door, rodents, and that this was precisely the sort of animal that exercised all Sultan's attention. Before too long he was back in the car and, within 5 hours, Sharon's compound. So sad for him, so gentle with humans and other dogs but with one, serious, flaw.
At the moment he is still waiting at Sharon's for his 2nd chance.
Juglia(Jessie) is thriving in her home with Mongo the Ally and the horses. No word on the fate of the magpie.
Jarro was before long adopted by a family from Pau, and, after a couple of weeks of a month's trial was confirmed to stay with his new companions, a 14 year old Dobermann female and a King Charles Spaniel
Juglia(Jessie) is thriving in her home with Mongo the Ally and the horses. No word on the fate of the magpie.
Jarro was before long adopted by a family from Pau, and, after a couple of weeks of a month's trial was confirmed to stay with his new companions, a 14 year old Dobermann female and a King Charles Spaniel
Total Distance of all the journeys above 2,449 kms