A freezing, dark and foggy January morning in 2017 and I am setting off from home and heading first west, then south. To Spain. My destination is a refuge near a village called Etxauri which is near Pamplona. It is set in wild country in the valley which is bounded on one side by the river Arga and on the other by the solid rock wall of the Sierra de Sarvil.
The first time I came here was in the evening, looking for a restaurant, before loading next morning. The one I first picked on, because Google showed lorries parked outside, was only serving at lunchtime but another driver directed me to one in the centre of the village before Extauri which was good, and open. I found it, no room for lorries, but I squeezed in with the caravan and had a very good 3 course meal for the princely sum of €8.20, wine included! But not too much wine, because I still had to carry on down the potholed track to the refuge where the large concrete pad outside the the stout steel gate provided ample, quiet, starlit parking. Quiet that is, after the barking prompted by my arrival had died down. We all slept soundly then till morning.
This time though was different, as I headed west towards the N10, and south I thought about the job ahead. 3 or 4 Dobermanns, not all at the same time. The first, Jules, a young male was in the refuge at Etxauri and he was travelling just 180 kilometres north over the Pyrenees to the town of Arthez de Bearn.
South of Bordeaux I took the autoroute to the Spanish border at Irun. Parts of this road are now tolled but the cost is not great when compared to the time saving involved. Especially on the southerly section the national route is very slow, because of extensive and, it appears, little used reserved bus lanes. Once through the last peage a long right hand bend brings me onto the N-121A due south to Pamplona. Already wondering if my route took me past a re-fuelling point in Pamplona where I had got cheap fuel before, I suddenly came across a large service station but was too late to turn in when I saw the sign with the very low price. Low enough to persuade me to take the next exit, turn north for a while, and then, returning, come upon it again. This would not last me all the way but would take me to possibly other cheap stops further south. In the event I did see some very cheap signs around Madrid, but all were off the motorway and inaccessible as far as I could see.
Pamplona on first glance at the map, looks like an easy place to bypass on the north side but, in fact the road numbers are not always easily seen. To make it worse I can't rely on the GPS because it always wants to take me round the much further southern motorway. I made it though and was at last on familiar territory, the NA-700 to the village. On the western outskirts I turn off to the left down a dirt track for about a kilometre.
The first time I came here was in the evening, looking for a restaurant, before loading next morning. The one I first picked on, because Google showed lorries parked outside, was only serving at lunchtime but another driver directed me to one in the centre of the village before Extauri which was good, and open. I found it, no room for lorries, but I squeezed in with the caravan and had a very good 3 course meal for the princely sum of €8.20, wine included! But not too much wine, because I still had to carry on down the potholed track to the refuge where the large concrete pad outside the the stout steel gate provided ample, quiet, starlit parking. Quiet that is, after the barking prompted by my arrival had died down. We all slept soundly then till morning.
This time though was different, as I headed west towards the N10, and south I thought about the job ahead. 3 or 4 Dobermanns, not all at the same time. The first, Jules, a young male was in the refuge at Etxauri and he was travelling just 180 kilometres north over the Pyrenees to the town of Arthez de Bearn.
South of Bordeaux I took the autoroute to the Spanish border at Irun. Parts of this road are now tolled but the cost is not great when compared to the time saving involved. Especially on the southerly section the national route is very slow, because of extensive and, it appears, little used reserved bus lanes. Once through the last peage a long right hand bend brings me onto the N-121A due south to Pamplona. Already wondering if my route took me past a re-fuelling point in Pamplona where I had got cheap fuel before, I suddenly came across a large service station but was too late to turn in when I saw the sign with the very low price. Low enough to persuade me to take the next exit, turn north for a while, and then, returning, come upon it again. This would not last me all the way but would take me to possibly other cheap stops further south. In the event I did see some very cheap signs around Madrid, but all were off the motorway and inaccessible as far as I could see.
Pamplona on first glance at the map, looks like an easy place to bypass on the north side but, in fact the road numbers are not always easily seen. To make it worse I can't rely on the GPS because it always wants to take me round the much further southern motorway. I made it though and was at last on familiar territory, the NA-700 to the village. On the western outskirts I turn off to the left down a dirt track for about a kilometre.
I arrived at the refuge just after 3pm and, after completing the formalities inside the complex, and some pictures with Jules' bearded friend, we were on our way half an hour later.
Back to Pamplona and the careful skirting of the town to find the N-135 north westerly over the Pyrenees to St. Jean Pied de Port. This road is winding and steep in places, but not too difficult, even in January. There was some snow on the roadsides, but certainly not a problem. From St. Jean we continued NW to Orthez and then east to Arthez de Bearn, where we arrived after 3 hours on the road at 6.30pm. Having been to the house before while collecting a Malinois for PAD, I knew exactly where to go and was welcomed, and directed into the driveway by Didier and Noella, Jules' new foster parents. They made a big fuss of us both and later we all sat down to a very welcome meal together. Well, Jules of course had his own menu by the door!
After a very pleasant evening and comfortable night, for me in the caravan, I set off alone at 8.30 the next morning, again in freezing fog and made my way due south through Oleron Ste. Marie and the Tunnel de Somport. Despite the conditions I was soon through this and back in Spain and headed south past Zaragoza to Madrid. Once past Huesca, most of this is free motorway so I made very good time. I was hoping for some cheap diesel along the route but, never leaving the motorway, this wasn't possible. The large signs advertising discounts of around 15 or 20 cents per litre off to the sides of the motorway and without apparent convenient exits, mocked me and I was forced a couple of times to just put in enough to keep me going. In fact it wasn't until I was passing again through Pamplona that I was able to top the tank completely once more.
A great deal of concentration was required round Madrid where the motorways change their numbers with alarming rapidity, and I was using both my GPS and the large, bold font directions on the sun visor in conjunction. Usually in such cases, I give preference to my own route but, because of the need to concentrate on all the lane changes in heavy fast moving traffic, I listened to the 'voice' instead. In fact I give less attention to the voice and more to the scrolling map on the little screen. It is much more reliable due to the tendency of the voice to announce changes too soon.
Then south again and heading for Ciudad Real. As I left the motorway and took to the CM-420, later to become the N-420, I soon was passing the village of Arenas de St. Juan. I had promised myself that, once off the motorway I would stop for the night at the first restaurant that offered evening meals. Arenas provided that opportunity for the bright lights of a restaurant and filling station on the right, and large lorry parking area on the left soon loomed in sight. I did not hesitate, it was still only 5.45pm, no food in Spain before 8, but I had had enough for the day and in any case was within an hour of my collection in the morning.
Had a couple of beers, then back to the car to read until dinnertime. Once again, 3 courses with wine and only around €8. It always costs me a little more in France than I claim in expenses so trips like this to Spain help to redress the balance.
In the morning, foggy and cold again, I sat in the car while waiting for the resto to open at 7. Then a quick coffee, even had a little pastry, in France they are too much for me first thing but this was just right, and use of the facilities and I was off at half past for the 40 minutes or so to the centre of Pozuelo de Calatrava. This was my original choice for a rdv but during the journey down Mary at PAD had advised me that the woman in charge of the dogs would be waiting at a disused petrol station 2 kilometres outside the town. This was easily found and I had wondered if she would bring the dogs to me there, or lead me to the place where they were. It was neither really, as I approached the station I saw a dark figure in the morning gloom, no car, just her. She announced that she would ride with me but I said that there was no room for humans in my car, the normal passenger area is taken up with tripod and camcorder and other essentials of my voyage. Whereupon she opened the rear side door and squeezed in between it and the cage. 200 metres further on she signalled me to turn left onto a dirt track in the wide open space. Another 200 metres, then this time to the right where after yet another 200 I turned right through the gates of a compound.
After a very pleasant evening and comfortable night, for me in the caravan, I set off alone at 8.30 the next morning, again in freezing fog and made my way due south through Oleron Ste. Marie and the Tunnel de Somport. Despite the conditions I was soon through this and back in Spain and headed south past Zaragoza to Madrid. Once past Huesca, most of this is free motorway so I made very good time. I was hoping for some cheap diesel along the route but, never leaving the motorway, this wasn't possible. The large signs advertising discounts of around 15 or 20 cents per litre off to the sides of the motorway and without apparent convenient exits, mocked me and I was forced a couple of times to just put in enough to keep me going. In fact it wasn't until I was passing again through Pamplona that I was able to top the tank completely once more.
A great deal of concentration was required round Madrid where the motorways change their numbers with alarming rapidity, and I was using both my GPS and the large, bold font directions on the sun visor in conjunction. Usually in such cases, I give preference to my own route but, because of the need to concentrate on all the lane changes in heavy fast moving traffic, I listened to the 'voice' instead. In fact I give less attention to the voice and more to the scrolling map on the little screen. It is much more reliable due to the tendency of the voice to announce changes too soon.
Then south again and heading for Ciudad Real. As I left the motorway and took to the CM-420, later to become the N-420, I soon was passing the village of Arenas de St. Juan. I had promised myself that, once off the motorway I would stop for the night at the first restaurant that offered evening meals. Arenas provided that opportunity for the bright lights of a restaurant and filling station on the right, and large lorry parking area on the left soon loomed in sight. I did not hesitate, it was still only 5.45pm, no food in Spain before 8, but I had had enough for the day and in any case was within an hour of my collection in the morning.
Had a couple of beers, then back to the car to read until dinnertime. Once again, 3 courses with wine and only around €8. It always costs me a little more in France than I claim in expenses so trips like this to Spain help to redress the balance.
In the morning, foggy and cold again, I sat in the car while waiting for the resto to open at 7. Then a quick coffee, even had a little pastry, in France they are too much for me first thing but this was just right, and use of the facilities and I was off at half past for the 40 minutes or so to the centre of Pozuelo de Calatrava. This was my original choice for a rdv but during the journey down Mary at PAD had advised me that the woman in charge of the dogs would be waiting at a disused petrol station 2 kilometres outside the town. This was easily found and I had wondered if she would bring the dogs to me there, or lead me to the place where they were. It was neither really, as I approached the station I saw a dark figure in the morning gloom, no car, just her. She announced that she would ride with me but I said that there was no room for humans in my car, the normal passenger area is taken up with tripod and camcorder and other essentials of my voyage. Whereupon she opened the rear side door and squeezed in between it and the cage. 200 metres further on she signalled me to turn left onto a dirt track in the wide open space. Another 200 metres, then this time to the right where after yet another 200 I turned right through the gates of a compound.
It was pretty bare, rough ground and fencing and a tumbledown building ahead of me. She disappeared inside and emerged with 2 full grown Dobermanns, one black female and a marron male. These were Juglia (Jessie) and Horco. It was obvious that they were too large to share one cage so I asked about the 3rd dog, Fara. Mary had said that she was smaller but did not get on with other dogs. With Juglia and Horco duly loaded, she brought out Fara. Indeed smaller but too large to go on my passenger seat which is what I think Mary had in mind. I was relieved that I didn't have to explain in French why I wouldn't do that. With mucky feet, there was dog poo everywhere in the yard, there was no way I was going to have her there. In any case the logistics are too difficult, she would have to be attached, loose enough to turn around, but short enough to avoid interference with my driving.
The day before my departure from home I had spent a lot of time experimenting with different ways of accommodating her, all without success. I have a smaller cage which would probably fit on the folded down passenger seat (removing the seat was not on, too many almost inaccessible bolts to remove). It was too large to go through the door assembled, folded it would go through but then had to be opened too wide to be erected inside. I tried moving the rear cages back a short way but I would have to remove them completely from the car, feed the small one in from the rear, and then replace them. A lot of time and trouble but then one small thing made it impossible. Moved rearwards, even only a few inches would prevent the opening of the door of the large front cage, which is accessed via the sliding side door. So no chance of loading a Dobie in there.
So, only one chance to take all 3 dogs. If I collapsed the rearmost cage and stored it on top of the first one, the space left would be large enough for Horco and Fara to share, although, to prevent any attempt that they would surely make to climb over and join me in the front, they would have to be attached to anchorage points there. Not ideal, but possible. Attached also because on opening the rear door to bring them out for a break en route, I would be unable to stop both of them escaping. They would be out before I could get the door high enough to grab either.
In a mixture of Spanish, French and sign language I pointed this out to Mantis, the woman in the gloom. She shook her head, not possible. Thus Fara would have to wait for the next trip, probably not by me, only 2 dogs at a time is too expensive, and she had 3 more waiting to go, plus Fara. I asked how many she would take in her car, a Berlingo van the same size as mine. She said 4 and explained, in cages 2 high. I shook my head in bewilderment, cages 2 high in a Berlingo would have to be very small cages, too small for Dobermanns. I later discovered from Sharon at her pension in the Dordogne where my 2 were now destined for, just how she did it, because some weeks later she turned up with 4 large dogs loose in the van. Impossible to take them out individually for rest and recuperation, she had driven the 1,000 plus kilometres with them shut inside the whole way. The evidence was plain to see, in addition to the sores and injuries these poor dogs carry, they, and the inside of the vehicle, were covered in shit and piss. What a way to treat such beautiful and patient animals. Sharon's disgust was not only because of the first job she had, which was in cleaning them all up. People ask me why do we take dogs from breeders like this, because we do from time to time both in Spain and in France. The answer is, to save their lives, many dogs are simply killed, and not always humanely, when they are no longer of use.
So we left after a quick text to Mary and headed north once again. Back to Pamplona, a fill up of diesel, and then Irun and up the A63 to Castets, the large routier park and restaurant, to spend the night.
I had noticed the unmistakeable odour of the insides of a Dobermann on the way, rather distinctive, but always I hope that it is temporary, if frequent. If temporary, it is a fart, if of longer duration something worse. I did my best at each of our stops to clean up poor Horco and change his bedding, but it was plain to see that he had some problems within. No wonder he was so keen to break out every time. In fact they both did. Dobermanns are almost always very gentle and good natured, which is just as well because they often, at the first sign of a door opening, thrust their full force against it and have to be restrained equally forcefully until a lead is safely secured.
Horco particularly was a struggle. And at Castets I nearly lost him. I use a slip rope over the head which dogs often try to evade. The method is to put my left hand through the loop, hold the dog's snout, then slip it all the way over. All the time making sure my weight is against the door, trapping both my wrists, and making sure no loose ends are caught up in anything. I thought the loop had gone over Horco's head, but I wasn't convinced, and struggled in the dark to see if I had him. I didn't, and he gave a mighty heave and emerged from the cage. Frantically I grabbed his scruff with my left hand and wrapped my right arm all round his chest, and held on tight. I still don't know how I did it but I managed to get the loop on and all was well. You might think that a large and very strong dog of a breed with a generally bad reputation would turn very nasty at such treatment. Not a bit of it, he was gentle throughout and even searched for a reassuring hug and kiss when he willingly went back in after our walk. Juglia was equally forceful but didn't get out of the cage before the loop was on, so all of us were able to relax again. I went in for my lovely meal, spent in the company of a Portuguese driver as we swapped stories of the road, and then back for a read and a listen before a good night's sleep, entirely uninterrupted by my 2 charges, who slept peacefully throughout. The morning walk was a repeat of the previous evening's, but with a bit less drama.
The day before my departure from home I had spent a lot of time experimenting with different ways of accommodating her, all without success. I have a smaller cage which would probably fit on the folded down passenger seat (removing the seat was not on, too many almost inaccessible bolts to remove). It was too large to go through the door assembled, folded it would go through but then had to be opened too wide to be erected inside. I tried moving the rear cages back a short way but I would have to remove them completely from the car, feed the small one in from the rear, and then replace them. A lot of time and trouble but then one small thing made it impossible. Moved rearwards, even only a few inches would prevent the opening of the door of the large front cage, which is accessed via the sliding side door. So no chance of loading a Dobie in there.
So, only one chance to take all 3 dogs. If I collapsed the rearmost cage and stored it on top of the first one, the space left would be large enough for Horco and Fara to share, although, to prevent any attempt that they would surely make to climb over and join me in the front, they would have to be attached to anchorage points there. Not ideal, but possible. Attached also because on opening the rear door to bring them out for a break en route, I would be unable to stop both of them escaping. They would be out before I could get the door high enough to grab either.
In a mixture of Spanish, French and sign language I pointed this out to Mantis, the woman in the gloom. She shook her head, not possible. Thus Fara would have to wait for the next trip, probably not by me, only 2 dogs at a time is too expensive, and she had 3 more waiting to go, plus Fara. I asked how many she would take in her car, a Berlingo van the same size as mine. She said 4 and explained, in cages 2 high. I shook my head in bewilderment, cages 2 high in a Berlingo would have to be very small cages, too small for Dobermanns. I later discovered from Sharon at her pension in the Dordogne where my 2 were now destined for, just how she did it, because some weeks later she turned up with 4 large dogs loose in the van. Impossible to take them out individually for rest and recuperation, she had driven the 1,000 plus kilometres with them shut inside the whole way. The evidence was plain to see, in addition to the sores and injuries these poor dogs carry, they, and the inside of the vehicle, were covered in shit and piss. What a way to treat such beautiful and patient animals. Sharon's disgust was not only because of the first job she had, which was in cleaning them all up. People ask me why do we take dogs from breeders like this, because we do from time to time both in Spain and in France. The answer is, to save their lives, many dogs are simply killed, and not always humanely, when they are no longer of use.
So we left after a quick text to Mary and headed north once again. Back to Pamplona, a fill up of diesel, and then Irun and up the A63 to Castets, the large routier park and restaurant, to spend the night.
I had noticed the unmistakeable odour of the insides of a Dobermann on the way, rather distinctive, but always I hope that it is temporary, if frequent. If temporary, it is a fart, if of longer duration something worse. I did my best at each of our stops to clean up poor Horco and change his bedding, but it was plain to see that he had some problems within. No wonder he was so keen to break out every time. In fact they both did. Dobermanns are almost always very gentle and good natured, which is just as well because they often, at the first sign of a door opening, thrust their full force against it and have to be restrained equally forcefully until a lead is safely secured.
Horco particularly was a struggle. And at Castets I nearly lost him. I use a slip rope over the head which dogs often try to evade. The method is to put my left hand through the loop, hold the dog's snout, then slip it all the way over. All the time making sure my weight is against the door, trapping both my wrists, and making sure no loose ends are caught up in anything. I thought the loop had gone over Horco's head, but I wasn't convinced, and struggled in the dark to see if I had him. I didn't, and he gave a mighty heave and emerged from the cage. Frantically I grabbed his scruff with my left hand and wrapped my right arm all round his chest, and held on tight. I still don't know how I did it but I managed to get the loop on and all was well. You might think that a large and very strong dog of a breed with a generally bad reputation would turn very nasty at such treatment. Not a bit of it, he was gentle throughout and even searched for a reassuring hug and kiss when he willingly went back in after our walk. Juglia was equally forceful but didn't get out of the cage before the loop was on, so all of us were able to relax again. I went in for my lovely meal, spent in the company of a Portuguese driver as we swapped stories of the road, and then back for a read and a listen before a good night's sleep, entirely uninterrupted by my 2 charges, who slept peacefully throughout. The morning walk was a repeat of the previous evening's, but with a bit less drama.
The run back to Sharon's took less than 3 hours, and, after a few photos, a run around the paddock and a good meal, both were safe and sound in warm comfy beds.
And for me? I wasn't finished yet, 12 kms to home, drop the caravan and then up to Deux Sevres and back via Bergerac with a couple of stray kittens.
For the 3 Dobermanns, well, Jules is still with Didier and Noella and doing well at the time of writing, September 2017, but is reserved and will be joining his new family soon. Horco has long been with his permanent family in La Fleche, near Le Mans, and fully recovered from all his ills, and Juglia/Jessie, well I delivered her to a new home at an equestrian centre in wild country north of Frejus in Provence. But that is another story which ties in with yet another Dobie, and is for another day.
Total distance 2,517 kms (plus another 400 or so for the kittens)
A further update on Jules. He was eventually adopted by Didier and Noella but after 2 years together Didier sadly died. Noella decided to sell the house and move north to the Vendee. However, for her Jules, by now a big and strong though gentle 35 kgs, was too much for her to handle. An inveterate chaser of cats, one day he took off at speed without warning and in doing so pulled Noella to the ground. She recieved serious injuries to her arm and was hospitalised. Impossible to continue with him he was returned to PAD's books for re-adoption. I was asked to collect him with some urgency but, as Sharon's pension was full, he came home to us. And, now the end of August 2020, he is still here as a foster.
Totally gentle, loving and obedient he has only one failing, And that a serious one. Once in the wilds of forest and field his nose is to the ground and he follows it wherever it may take him. This seems to cut off all contact between brain and ears and he is almost totally oblivious to recall commands, both by whistle and voice. Sometimes he comes, sometimes he doesn't, strange for an otherwise food obsessed dog to not forsake brief contact with the ground for a tasty treat, but there it is.
So, Jules is still work in progress, if I could conquer that, we may well keep him. On verra!
A brief diversion from Jules, and a sad one, on the 2nd of September 2020 at the age of only 6 and a half years, Horco died of a heart attack at his adoptive home in the north of France. He was very ill when I brought him from Ciudad Real but had recovered and had been living a happy and healthy life.
This is one of the last pictures of him, always curious.
For the 3 Dobermanns, well, Jules is still with Didier and Noella and doing well at the time of writing, September 2017, but is reserved and will be joining his new family soon. Horco has long been with his permanent family in La Fleche, near Le Mans, and fully recovered from all his ills, and Juglia/Jessie, well I delivered her to a new home at an equestrian centre in wild country north of Frejus in Provence. But that is another story which ties in with yet another Dobie, and is for another day.
Total distance 2,517 kms (plus another 400 or so for the kittens)
A further update on Jules. He was eventually adopted by Didier and Noella but after 2 years together Didier sadly died. Noella decided to sell the house and move north to the Vendee. However, for her Jules, by now a big and strong though gentle 35 kgs, was too much for her to handle. An inveterate chaser of cats, one day he took off at speed without warning and in doing so pulled Noella to the ground. She recieved serious injuries to her arm and was hospitalised. Impossible to continue with him he was returned to PAD's books for re-adoption. I was asked to collect him with some urgency but, as Sharon's pension was full, he came home to us. And, now the end of August 2020, he is still here as a foster.
Totally gentle, loving and obedient he has only one failing, And that a serious one. Once in the wilds of forest and field his nose is to the ground and he follows it wherever it may take him. This seems to cut off all contact between brain and ears and he is almost totally oblivious to recall commands, both by whistle and voice. Sometimes he comes, sometimes he doesn't, strange for an otherwise food obsessed dog to not forsake brief contact with the ground for a tasty treat, but there it is.
So, Jules is still work in progress, if I could conquer that, we may well keep him. On verra!
A brief diversion from Jules, and a sad one, on the 2nd of September 2020 at the age of only 6 and a half years, Horco died of a heart attack at his adoptive home in the north of France. He was very ill when I brought him from Ciudad Real but had recovered and had been living a happy and healthy life.
This is one of the last pictures of him, always curious.