Georgy Girl

Back in Tenerife at the rescue kennels, Georgy was a Berdino (Tenerife breed lightweight mastiff type) At some point she had escaped from whoever owned her and was found walking along the road by some German tourists with her choke chain grown into her neck.

We cut out the choke chain with no muzzle on her, ok a recipe for disaster but l didn’t have any muzzles and a tape would have ended up where l wanted to work. So l took a chance on her behaviour as she had been up to that point. I was not let down, she just stood there. She was so sweet tempered with people and other animals it was amazing, l don’t think she knew what nasty was.
She had those horrid cropped ears a mutilation thankfully banned in the UK

Treatment was Synulox tablets (those good old pink antibiotics, the mainstay of the veterinary world), wound washing three times a day and wound powder too help keep off flies, the wound healed perfectly.
Even if it was in UK it is unlikely that a vet would have carried out surgery as the edges were granulating and starting to heal. It was the centre of the wounds where the collar was that was still open. And in situations like hers to quote Tony when l showed him the photos, time is a better healer than a scalpel.

I named her Georgy after the 60s song “Georgy Girl” by The Seekers as l felt the outside cropped ear tough dog look was unfair and it in the words of the song..."There's another Georgy deep inside"

Georgy was rehomed in Germany as were most of our dogs.

The damage was similar on both sides of the neck



The wound under her throat looked like some one had tried to slice her throat.

Ditch the Bits

Back in Tenerife and Tony the vet was over from UK. We (hub and l) had taken about 10 dogs up for neutering. Added to the feral cats that Judith had trapped and taken over it was a long day waiting for kits to sterilise and neutering animals in various order to get the best from the day until we headed home.

In Tenerife there is no cremation area for animals. They go into the dustbin then to the dump. In this case it was the body parts and a load of other veterinary stuff from Tony that were to go into the bin. However on the way back from Tony’s the bin areas all had people parked in them and we did not really want to drop our “bits” in public as some was starting to get smelly.

We got back to the kennels and went to unload the dogs when l saw this little bitch tied to the gate and almost at full term ready to whelp. I quickly rang Tony and asked if he could do an emergency abort on her, no problem. I unloaded the dogs as fast as possible and we headed back to Tony.

It may seem cruel to abort but the volume of strays meant that the cruelty came in adding more. Not to mention there was no place to keep a bitch and pups as we were full. It would have meant putting two dogs to sleep to get a kennel. This would add mum and an unknown amount pups for several weeks till they could be rehomed, assuming that all survived.
Tony operated and we all headed back. By now very tired and getting late. I had feeding to do, let them have a bit of time out and finally home about 9pm.

We only needed to use the car over the next 3 weeks or so which meant the van sat and happily relaxed in the underground garage at the flats. I needed to go and get something out of it and went to open the doors. My nose twitched, oh god! My heart stopped as a memory sunk into my brain…along with the now powerfully overpowering smell as l opened the door fully. The interior of the van shimmered in a vicious miasma.

All the body bits, the dead foetus the stuff we had taken from Tony and said yup don’t worry we will throw it away. With all that went on it was all still in the van. I got rid off it asap, it almost floated to the bins. Thankfully the van had been underground if it was parked in full sun, the thought does not bear thinking about.

l had to go and break the news to hub. I prefer to draw a veil over the resultant discussion…ok ok argument. I still maintain that he was also in the van and had just as much to do with forgetting as l did, especially as he rested while l checked, fed, watered and let out all the dogs.

When we left the island over a year later the van still had an aroma in it when it got hot but not as bad as when l opened the door that day and realised that we had forgotten to “ditch the bits”.

A Broken Heart

Back in Tenerife, Elsie and l had gone up to Adeje the main town in the council area. I have forgotten what the reason was but this lovely little brown bitch trotted up to us.
I asked Elsie to ask people around if she belonged to anyone. The answer was no she is just a street perro (dog) well not any more l said she comes with us.

Bella settled in very quickly she was so loving and just wanted love in return. She had spent the first week with us when a family turned up, took one look and fell in love.
Bella went off to her new life, for a week when they turned up again.
“She is dirty, she steals food, she is smelly”
I said l had been through her history with them. I had explained all possible problems, that she had only known the streets and they had accepted and understood what l had told them. I said that l would be happy to help train her up and so she could stay with them.
“No” said the woman “l do not want her… we will have that one” pointing at one of the other dogs and treating Bella as though she did not exist.
I left them in no doubt that they would never have one of my rescue dogs, they are not disposable and to get off the property.

Bella struggled in my arms as they drove off. When they had gone and l shut the gate she ran up to the gate digging and crying. I carried her back her cries were heartbreaking. I put her in with a couple of quiet but loving Podenco’s l had in to see if she would settle with them she just went flat and stared at the door. When she got out at playtime she went straight to the gate digging and crying trying to get out.

Within 2 days l was force feeding her with food and water. Her weight fell off her and she went from chubby to a skeleton in what seemed like a day.
If a car came to the gate she perked up looking for her family. As soon as she saw it wasn’t them she collapsed again, silent.

I thought of taking her home to help her but then l would have put her hopes up again and then have to wean her off and l couldn’t do that. I couldn't not get her on an emergency flight to Germany for a couple of weeks. Assuming she survived.
My guilt looking at her was and still is so deep l will always carry it.

Tony came out a few days later and l went straight up to see him. He did not actually believe me until l got there. While we were talking his wife and a friend of hers came towards us out of sight, their voices and footsteps carrying.
Bella jumped up and yipped, saw Wendy and collapsed again in despair.
Tony looked at me, then at Bella. “She won’t make it you know. I would never have believed a dog could die of a broken heart but she does not want to live without those people"” he said quietly.

I knew that but lived in hope he may have some magic cure for her even though in my heart l knew he didn’t.
“I know l told him, she won’t even survive the trip to Germany and even then….”

I carried her into his consult room and she slipped quietly away. She loved to death a family that had no doubt forgotten her within days. I know she has found the peace and love that was denied her on earth.

The Smell

I know that dogs are thought to roll in bad smells as hark back to hunting days when it hid their smell. I just can not believe that any self respecting prey animal would be fooled by some of the disgusting things that dogs roll in.

When we came back to UK from Tenerife the dogs flew back a few days before us. At about 17;00 we took them for a last walk and run before their trip to the airport and a 6month jail term opps l mean quarantine. It was the days before pet passport.
They had great fun on the back area of the flats we lived in. For those who know Tenerife we lived in the flats next to the go kart track near the south airport with lots of unused land around.

Suddenly Wibble disappeared, panic was just starting to set in when she reappeared. OMG, l have never ever smelt anything as bad. She was covered with a sheen that looked like greasy fat and l swear it shimmered with smell. Even the other 2 dogs Poca and Santa backed off sneezing. Hub smacked a hand over his nose, backed off towards the flats and grabbed Poca and Santa muttering “Sort your bloody dog”. Funny how kids and animals are suddenly some one else’s when there is a problem.

We headed back to the flats and even Wib was starting to find her smell odious as she started to pull eagerly towards home. We had a choice once in the building. The lift was faster but fairly slow and there was 4 floors to go up and very confined, would l be able to hold my breath that long. The stairs were the other option, more air circulating but took much longer.
I chose the lift and hoped no one would stop the lift to get aboard, not that they would when the smell hit them but it meant the lift stopping and stuck with the smell for longer.

Once at the top l grabbed a new bottle of fairy liquid, I know you should not use washing up liquid on dogs but this was no ordinary situation. We headed for the roof. It was a top flat and our roof area was a big veranda area for us. I turned on tap and held her under the hosepipe and started to scrub her. In Tenerife as the pipe work runs above ground the water gets very hot. You have to be careful that when you turn on the cold water, especially with hoses, you do not burn the object you are watering. Hot was fine, l needed hot water and grease remover to clean Wib off.
Almost a bottle of fairy liquid later and a whole lake of water to rinse her and l off the pair of us finally smelt almost normal. By 20:00 she was dry fed and back to normal for the airport trip.

We found out afterwards that there was a fat dump where restaurant owners illegally dumped used fat just behind the go-kart track area. In the 40c Tenerife sun it was putrefied beyond belief. Wibble had found it and had a wonderful time. Thankfully she had just rolled in it if she had eaten the stuff god forbid what it would have done to her insides.

Wibble

Wibble

Ahh the little tricolour brat hiding under a blanket in the corner of the room as l type. She was also a Teide collection. We went up to one of the high restaurants looking for kittens. They had none only her. All her siblings were dead, her mum was off scrounging as all food was battened down. Less than a week before heavy snows smothered the mountain like vanilla ice cream and colder than that. Wibs had sores on her feet as she staggered round. She was about 2 or 3 weeks old her eyes still baby blue. I did hunt for her mum but no luck.
The decision was l would bring her on to about 9weeks old then re-home in Germany, ummm ok did not go to plan did it? 15 or so years later.
Santa was a fantastic mum just Santa had a thing about whiskers and none of her “babies” were allowed them, all got chewed off as soon as they grew back.

I used to take Wibble in with me to the original home of K9 some kennels at someone’s house, at about 7 weeks distemper went through there she thankfully did not catch it. Then Demodex patches and finally spayed about 10 weeks old.

She has always been nervous and since the other 2 have gone very clingy to me. To the degree that even if l am at home and go to the kitchen l do not need to turn round to know a little face is just checking me out.
At Mike Martins (heart referral) it is great she sleeps in the office. I do have to tie her up though. She keeps sneaking over to Mike M desk and lying by it. When he stands up you hear a yelp and scream as they meet. What is it about animals they never learn.
The emergency place l work she sleeps by the desk in medical prep and pretty much doesn’t budge from her bed but tries to compromise that back legs are on the bed. Other places she is kennelled (she hates) or free range or tied up in an area like prep. If she is not allowed l do not go.

Santa and Poca were her mentors and when Poca peed she squatted and cocked her back leg. So she did not get her long “feathers” wet. When Santa peed she would squat a bit then kick sand or whatever back over the patch.
Wibble now squats, cocks her leg then kicks sand backwards when done.

Well that’s Wibbles story l am sure in time l will mention all the animals but l just wanted to tell about the trio in the heading and whose photo’s heads my profile. That was taken the day they got home from quarantine still confused about what was happening but glad to be back with us. There is loads more l will put up as short stories over time about all 3 and other animals but thats enough gooey stuff from me for 3 days.

Needles and Volcano's

I was in Tenerife running the rescue kennels. It was the end of lunch. I had Pat one of the committee members/helpers with me and we were at the local garage that had a small café attached, when Elsie rang me.

“Oh hello dear” said Elsie “I have just been to the kennels with Frau Weigner and dropped a dog off there. Her English neighbours dumped him when they went back to UK. The thing is he is a bit nasty and only the neighbours and Frau Weigner can handle him. He may need putting down, she understands this. I will leave it to you goodbye dear”

I had learnt by now that Elsie’s little problems made me work. We went straight back to the kennels and found a white German Sheppard locked in a kennel. Blanco as he was called hated the world. Elsie was right this was a PTS dog, and had to be done ASAP l needed the only empty kennel for a dog due in later that day. No way would l trust Blanco in with any thing animal or human.

Pat stood at the bottom of the passage staring in horror at the dog. I pulled up a couple of syringes of Rompun a very strong sedative and got my homemade dog grab ready.
“Right l told her, when l grab and pin this bastard in the corner you stick those in him where ever you can and inject him” I told her.

“What? no way” she said going whiter than Blanco. “I am scared of needles and l faint when l see them, and no way am l going near that, it isn’t a dog it is a demon”.

“Belt up and get a grip on yourself. This needs sorting now so stop pissing about. Use these to practice with and get the feel of” I snapped with all the deep understanding l could muster. I shoved an empty syringe a needle and bottle of antibiotic into her hands.

Pat managed to draw up and inject it back into the bottle a few times but looked very ill.
**At this point health and safety shut your eyes and don’t read on**

“Right l said lets get this sorted” and got Blanco out and pinned in a corner. To be fair Pat was doing her best. I was not to keen but it was a case of needs must. A scared person waving a large amount of dangerous drugs around with a dangerous dog is not smart but had to be done.

There was one very close moment. Pat almost fainted. I pushed her backwards into the kennel walls so she wouldn’t go into the passage back/head first. This nearly allowed Blanco to get a hold of me as l had to loosen my grip on him, and while she was going into her faint Pat almost rammed me with the needle.

Still she didn’t faint, l think slamming into the kennel side woke her up. We got it done. When Blanco was asleep l put him down, and notified Elsie. Later l placed his body in the bins on the way home. In Tenerife there is no where to put bodies other than the tip. No animal crematorium and with volcanic rock no real place to bury bodies unless it was a farmers field or a beach. Somehow l think people would complain at those 2 areas. The other option was an area exploded with dynamite, again not viable, anyhow no sane person would let me loose with dynamite.

This should have been it, problem solved. Until 7am the next day when Elsie phoned me.
“Oh hello dear”
“What” l asked suspicious?
“That’s not very friendly dear”
“Elsie you never ring me at 7am and after yesterdays little gift l am very suspicious, back to my question what are you trying to do to kill me now”
“Oh dear” She sighed. “I did say he was a bit nasty, oh well all sorted and done. Anyway Frau Weigner wants to come and visit Blanco’s grave. She is very religious and feels she wants to see him on his way and say sorry it needed to be done”
“No problem l will take her to the bin l threw him in” I said
“No dear don’t be like that, she wants to visit his grave, can you not just do something”?
I drew a deep breath ”I can easily find the Basura wagon that collected the bin, the lads can tell me what part of the tip he went on how’s that”
“Not funny dear she will be with you later in the morning but l don’t know what time, l will leave you to sort it please be gentle she is very upset and religious”. Elsie rang off very quickly, by the time l could call on all the saints to drop a bomb on her.

My trip to work was done at about 90mph l did not even finish the coffee l was drinking. I rang Pat up on my way out off the house. She had been due in that morning. Her mother was on holiday staying with her and she was under extreme stress. A day with me was apparently less stressful than her mother. “I need you there now we have an emergency” was all the info l gave her and slammed the phone down before she could ask what was wrong.

Pat stared at me like l was crazy. The place was sitting on top of solid rock, only dynamite was going to dig a hole that’s why the animals went in the bin. Ok what about we pile up rock. Not easy the rock was attached to the volcano. So we settled for sweeping up sand and carrying it over to a clearer part between the cactuses.
I forgot to mention those didn’t l thousands of them in all the spare spaces very big plants with very sharp thorns. They made a rhino horn look small. Dead sections of cactus spread by wind lay all over "clear" areas. We managed to clear a section and pile up sand, pebbles and rocks to look kind off like a grave, assuming you were drunk, half blind and cross eyed that is.

We were just walking in when the Frau turned up. She was in tears, carrying a HUGE bouquet of flowers, a big black bible and a smaller book. Pat legged it and left me to handle things, the traitor. I took the Frau around the back and left her. She spent about 3 hours there. Reading stories saying prayers and singing hymns. She left the flowers on the grave. I threatened the council lads around with excommunication if they touched the flowers. Frau Weigner came back every day for about 3 days then once a week for almost a year until l left. She would sit by Blanco's "grave" and read peacefully with her umbrella up to shade her from the sun.

I do not know if she realised the grave was empty or not. I felt awful lying to her, but it gave her comfort and she was so grateful she gave the charity a huge donation.

Basura's Story

This is one of the many stories of animals that came into K9 animal rescue in Tenerife.

Basura (Rubbish) was the only name that fitted him. He was a Belgium Sheppard cross breed(well looked like it) He came in very thin like most of the dogs we got in, but he soon filled out. We had no other history on him.
I did try and find a different name for him but nothing suited. No matter how tidy something was, he destroyed it.

He loved concrete bricks. Common stones were not worth his time. They had to be the big concrete blocks that he could destroy. And if not in destruction mode he would try and horde them for when he was bored. Being that the kennels were in the middle of a builders yard it was his idea of heaven. He would trot across the yard holding blocks he had thieved from various piles. I would trot behind him using strong language, grab the blocks and replace them, while he was already off raiding another pile. Needless to say his teeth were fast wearing down.

I tried to make the dogs nice beds with a solid wood base surrounded by concrete blocks and a thick padding of ripped up newspaper for bedding. I did not think it was possible to make as big a mess as he made. After a couple of days l removed the blocks. It was asking for trouble leaving them there. I tried to make a wood surround to keep the paper on the bed, forget it. He was going to hurt himself on the nails.
His kennel partner always had an “I am a long suffering wife” expression on her face bless her.

He was hyperactive and would bury a block in the sand then come back after running a few times round the compound and “find” his block. Sometimes he would forget where he buried it and sand would fly all over as he got more and more frantic.

I found a lovely home for Basura with an English couple. They had a young dog for company if they were not there, they liked walking and were very active ideal for Basura.
Unfortunately for Basura they had to ban him from bringing stones and bricks into the house. In Tenerife the houses tend to be flat roofed with a seating area on the roof.
Apparently they got home and Basura and their other dog got all excited. Basura could not resist giving a loud “WOOF” The fact he was holding a concrete block in his mouth was immaterial. He wanted to say hi so he dropped his toy. Luckily the family had been looking up and were able to dodge the item when it smashed down from a drop of about 20ft.

Cruelty Case

I was rung with a report of cruelty to a dog. It was tied up and starving. The problem was that the people did not know exactly where as they were on an island tour. They gave me the details of the company and l got permission to join the trip for the day. My idea of hell was about to begin, a day trip with a bunch of ohhing and ahhing tourists.

We had a long pre talk as the trip was designed to do selling of fancy blankets and linen. The prize of sitting through this was a trip round the island. I had to join the talk as the company did not know how long the whole thing would take, it varied. Oh Great. I tried to stay awake in the corner where l had wedged myself in.
Finally we set off. I had tried to arrange with my other half that he would collect me when we found the dog so that l did not have to do the whole tour. He refused as he was to busy.

I sat at the front of the bus by a window trying to ignore the prattle from the tour guide, who every so often would give me a wink at another outrageous lie. At every stop l was off the coach and rushing round looking at the directions l had been given to find the dog to see if l could recognise anything.
At lunch someone asked me if l was with the tour company and l explained what l was up to. Apparently the group had formulated some weird story for my behaviour to do with checking up on the tour guide and seeing if everything in the areas they stopped at was set up correctly.

On hearing what l doing they immediately became like a pack of truffle hounds it was much more fun to them than just being on a tour. So l would wait at the bus chatting while “The Pack” shot off on a hunt and reported back. At the last stop they found it and were in uproar over the dogs condition. I explained l was not prepared to do anything that day, this was just a find the dog expedition and see what was there, if anything. I would come back later and talk to the owner and try to improve conditions or if need be get permission to put it to sleep. There was grumbling but they could see l wasn’t going to budge my position. I also gave them a long talk on animal care and how things worked on the island.



The next day when l went back to speak to the owner he was an elderly man. The dog was a guard dog. He was not exactly a prime example of it not caring what walked past him.

The owner agreed that l could supply wormers for the dog he would give them and to improve feeding. Bedding was a no as that would make a mess. I suggested an area of soft sand to lie in if l arranged it, the answer was still no. He would make a sheltered area so the dog could have shade other than the sparse branches nearby. I went back a couple of times to drop wormers off. Food was improved but he never got any weight back on and did not eat an awful lot. I think he was just too old to care and quite likely had heart worm which l could not treat without confirming he had it, and in the state he was in the treatment would kill him. He died a few months after l found him. The owner did not bother to replace him thank goodness.

Had the owner refused to do anything to help the dog, then no one could have done anything, but throw food as tourists had done in the past. Most of the Tenerifians were happy enough to do as suggested if it cost them nothing and did not mean they had to vary their routine.

I am able to understand cruelty in places like Tenerife, this doe’s not mean l condone it there is a big difference.
It is a struggle for the people, let alone the animals they have. There is not much education about human health. As to animal advice that is non existent. Vets are a last resort and generally the vets only treat town peoples and foreigners animals, the villagers are to poor for their own medical needs, let alone their animals.

I can not understand about cruelty in the UK and USA and other “modern” countries where there is education and back up for animal welfare and it is here l reserve my anger for over cruelty. Other places it is more frustration, the odd burst of anger and a spot to bash my head against the wall.



**The 3 photos were taken on the day l found him.

The RTA & Franco

I was driving to the kennels one morning. I was setting up to turn left. (In Tenerife driving is on the other side of the road) when WHAM some idiot tail ends me. I was grateful for seatbelts, had l not had one l would have been in the wind shield and in a mess.
I pulled to the right hand side hard shoulder as did the person that rammed me, and half of Tenerife. If an accident takes place there are long lines of parked cars in Tenerife as people park up to go and look, and hopefully for them see blood. Thankfully there was none just shaken drivers.

I was very shaken and as it was going to involve police and explanations, my language skills, normally ok at that moment had gone down to nil, l could not even think of the word for "hello". I was shaking and l guess in a mild shock, l knew l needed help so l rang Elsie who was fluent in spanish.

While waiting for her, the guys from the rubbish (basura) depot, stationed on the section above the kennels, came over to help. They were always very helpful and a nice bunch. They insisted while l waited for the police l go and wait in the depot.

As l walked in l saw Franco the Presa Canario (bull mastiff breed) chained up. He was loose at night and named Franco after General Franco as he was so nasty. Everyone but those that handled him avoided him. He was all business. After he almost killed a couple of would be thieves the basura yard was left well alone. There was better targets.

Down along from him was the German Sheppard about 8months old called Eccle. It was the nearest l came to pronouncing his name, but he seemed happy with the way l said it. Eccle was too sweet to be nasty. I gave him his vaccinations and regular cuddles, treated his cut foot and gave him his medication. I got nothing but slobbery kisses back. Everyone agreed he would not make a good guard dog but they liked him, so he stayed.

As l say, I was upset and defiantly not thinking right. I walked up and started to stroke Franco. There was total stillness even Eccle was heard to draw in a gasp in shock. One of Franco’s handlers saw what was going on but was to far away to do anything. Franco looked at me for all of 30 seconds… then he attacked.

Before anything could register in my head, both of my hands were deep in his mouth and he was ragging his head trying to rip my hands off my arms. Everyone was staring in horror even Franco’s handlers were not sure what to do. *They had not ever seen anything like this, although handlers they fed him and kept an eye on him but were not trained.

The fact he was chained had saved my life, there is no doubt about that. He was an attack dog, trained to work on his own without command and had an idiot in front of him. Normally he would let go when the person who he was eating had escaped, he was bored of their taste, the person was dead or if the person was lucky and the handlers* were around if they could persuare him to let go.

At moments like this the world clears and everything goes into slow motion.
I knew that he would not be able to come forward due to the chain, and he would want a better grip at some point. So l put my weight backwards and stood as still as the ragging would allow. The only sensible thing l could do, given the stupid thing l had just done. Not easy though when a 50+kg bull mastiff is doing his best to rip your hands off.
As Franco tried to get a better grip his mouth opened enough that my backward leaning weight pulled me free.

I stumbled backwards pouring blood from both badly bitten hands and lower arms. This broke the tableau around me and everyone came running. I yelled to everyone NOT to blame Franco leave him it wasn’t his fault, it was mine. His handlers were trying to calm him without getting bitten. Elsie had turned up just as it exploded and l was yelling at her to translate. She was trying follow what l was saying, speak to the lads and examine my hands to see how bad the damage was.
As things subsided Franco was pushed off to sit in his kennel growling and licking my blood off his lips.
Elsie herded me back to wait in the car for the police, l was still yelling not to blame Franco over my shoulder. The basura men went off shaking their heads at the confirmation l was weird.

I had just placed my backside in the car, l am told l was white as a sheet. Elsie was trying to find something to stem the blood when the police turned up. I had seen them around town in the past and they had looked round the kennels. Many police and Guardia civil did. They looked at my damaged and bleeding hands and you could see the wheels turning in their head. The car was hit from behind and l was pouring blood from my hands and arms but there was nothing to cut myself on and no blood in the car just around the car.

Elsie chimed in trying to be helpful that the dog bit me. I was now in a fairly deep shock and remember saying over and over don’t you go blame Franco it wasn’t his fault it was mine.
Of course there was no dog around which added to their confusion, had l been able to l would have laughed but nothing seemed real.

The police decided that l was not worth speaking to. They wanted a nice simple report not lunatic babbling females, invisible dogs and bleeding hands so went to speak to the person that whacked my car. They asked Elsie to get me to the hospital if she wouldn’t mind. I never spoke to them again nor did they ask me for papers etc.
I found out later from the Basura guys that the Police booked the person behind me for dangerous driving. (driving to closely and driving to fast)

The basura men continued to help and kept an eye on my car while l was at the hospital and one of them checked that all the dogs in the kennels were ok and had water. They were always brilliant, which is more than l can say about the general council workers (bar 2) based at the lower depot, but that’s another story.

At the clinic yet another argument, the Dr said dangerous dogs and l let loose. Not the dog’s fault it was mine.
“No no he and the nurse were saying it was the dogs fault”
Don’t you dare blame him he was doing his job… Elsie tell them l won’t have Franco blamed”
There was a little crowd gathered now and poor Elsie was getting flustered again trying to explain what had happened to the crowd, calm me down, and translate my ravings. I did not need a translation back for what the others were saying. "Loco" (crazy) featured strongly.

I have this feeling the clinic were pleased to see me go. The nurse rammed an anti tetanus into my backside, but l didn’t feel a thing. My hands had a decoration of steri strips patterning them. The Dr wanted to do more, but l just wanted to get out and check my dogs, so we compromised and l had a list of antibiotics, with instructions to keep my hands clean and if they broke down or looked nasty to go back asap. They didn't exactly look nice at that point, but he did not see the humour in my comment when l said that.

Hub came over to help that day as did Judith and Elsie. We managed to get things sorted. It took about a week before l could hold anything, great for dieting. Even then it was sore as hell, but l couldn’t sit on the side so started to work again. I felt that my helpers had enough to do without trying to run their lives and the kennels while l sat around feeling sorry for myself and giving them orders.

I am pleased to say that Franco was not blamed, it was all allowed to die down. I think they were too scared to do anything as they would have had to deal with me, and there was probably doubt on my sanity!!.

Franco and l would look warily at each other from a distance. Me thinking of his teeth Franco wondering if he could do a better job if there was a replay.
I gave him and Eccle a bag of treats by way of apology for bringing confusion into a nice normal morning.

Many thanks to Judith, Elsie, the basura men, and all those who helped me out that week.

A Ticking Off

l was asked to take over the kennels that K9 (in Tenerife) had been given from the council. On the phone Elsie (chairman of K9 also trouble shooter and fluent Spanish speaker) described the place in her usual understated way style, “Well dear, it is a bit rough, but you will soon get it sorted”
I did take note of the you and not the us, that was a big clue. Although to be fair Elsie was a lady who arranged things. Not a messy sod like me that piles into something without worrying about the consequences or cleanliness.

She had under described the kennels. There was 10 of them and 2 small alcoves. After a week or so I scrounged some wire,wood and a door and made an alcove into an 11th kennel.
The kennels themselves were ok. Breeze block, with proper weld mesh doors, and back sloping asbestos roofs. There was a hose pipe and running water. A centre drain that ran down the middle of the open air kennel passage, went underground to just under the compound wall and into the open air too an area l ended up calling “The Swamp”.
The problem was the filth. The kennel floors were about 5 to 8” deep in dry compacted dog poop and fleas and ticks ruled the place.

2 dogs in when we took over. One of the dogs was a German Pointer type that l called Danny the other a scruffy little mutt. Mutely went straight up to a foster home post bath and l did not have anything to do with him, he went to Germany for a fast re-home.

When we met the dogs looked like they had growths on, getting closer l realised it was bunches of tick’s that looked grey grapes hanging off them. I decided that while in theory you shouldn’t pull ticks off this was a no choice situation.
I bought the best tick killer l could find and soaked the dogs in it. After their wash l started to pull off handfuls of ticks and drowned them in left over tick killer.
It took about 3 hours to bath them and make sure that all the ticks were off them. The dogs were bleeding quite a bit by the end, a course of antibiotics was defiantly called for.
This was the opening skirmish in a war between the ticks and myself.

Danny had to stay in for some time, as we had no foster space or flights to Germany for him. His kennel was the first one cleaned, I left him tied up outside, he enjoyed sunning himself.

The next big shock came on the Friday, we had had the kennels for a couple of days and were still awaiting keys for the compound. The council informed us no one was allowed in on the weekend. l spent several hours outside the walls looking for a way in. No luck though l could not get in. It was surrounded by high walls, locked gates and rough ground. I have to say that was one of the worst weekends l had.

Elsie did manage to get a key by the following weekend thankfully. For the first weekend though, we had nowhere to put Danny, so we had to do what the council used to do. I put in several buckets of water in case one got knocked over and scattered lots of small bowls of dry dog food around. Danny got through the weekend ok.

I asked what happened on bank holidays and told oh same as weekends. As it turned out, on fiesta days, one of the council workmen that l got to know who that loved animals would come in and do a check, in his own time, to see the animals were ok.
He said If the kennels were full then every so often the vet would put everything down and it would start again. He felt, and l agreed that the dogs were better on the street, taking their chances.
In the kennels no one had cared if they fought or were hurt. At the end of the day they were only going to be put down. My friend used to let a lot of animals go but had to be careful he was not caught.

I had a heck of time trying to de-poop the kennels. The compaction was so dry that water ran off the top off it. I ended up with a sharp knife, digging it into it, and taking out bits to allow the water to seep under and help lift the mess. I gave up on gloves they kept tearing. It took me about a week of digging and scrubbing to clean the floors.
A few people did come along to help. They never stayed though once they saw what was needed.
Ticks were a constant problem. Every few minutes of digging l had to do a quick check to see what l need to pull off myself. Fleas l gave up on, they were to small and fast to bother about.

Cleaning the Kennel walls was in theory easy, no compacted dog poop. In practice all out war developed between the ticks and l. They lived deep in the cracks.
I used the strongest tick killer and disinfectant l could get my hands on. I would soak the walls, scrub them and flush them. The walls looked spotless.
l would put Danny in with bags on his feet. This was protection so he would not get poisoned by any disinfectant l had not managed to wash away. I would stand back from the kennel quietly talking to him. Within minutes whole battalions of ticks would swarm down the walls towards him, l have never seen the like.
I would haul him, out rampage into the kennel and slaughter ticks as fast as l could. They in turn would do a fast about turn and head for the cracks.
I tried to do it with myself as bait, not Danny, but l would not see so much as a head of a tick. I could only suppose it was body heat, or vibrations.
It took almost a month for me to kill all the ticks in about 4 of the kennels that were worst affected but l won eventually.

As a kennel became scrubbed and cleaned it was placed in use, by the end of the month K9 kennels were open and full with about 22 dogs.

Bowel Movements

I decided to slightly change the name of the blog to allow for other anecdotes and stories from other times in my life. Like in working at the SPCA in Bulawayo, or Tenerife with the animal rescue or Tenerife Zoo and other jobs that l have thrown myself into.
My initial thought for a title was something like, "The Barefoot Veterinary Nurse", as l am, whenever chance presents it's self, barefoot. The trouble is that type of title has been taken. So l contented myself with a rather bland title l have up now until something more original springs to mind.

I have just pushed my birds eye chicken curry dinner into the microwave. In theory very mild in reality l need half a bottle of mayonnaise on to cool it down.

This made me think of the mass "bowel" problem when l ran the kennels in Tenerife.
We were having a lot of problems from the local council over the kennels. Originally they had asked us to run them but now about a year later they were getting pushy as they wanted the area for other unspecified things.

Almost all of the strays were rehomed in Germany. They did a lot of fundraising for us and were happy to take strays as they have very strict laws on animal breeding in Germany and a lack of especially smaller dogs.
It could be difficult to arrange transport. Originally we could book dogs on with no owner and send them, then a law somewhere changed and they had to have an owner.
This meant our German speakers would have to try and arrange people who were on holiday to accept a dog as theirs for the trip home. The airlines were aware of this and accepted it so what was the use of the rule?.

We had meetings with the council who were uncompromising. They go or they die, they were only dogs. We got hints that the kennels would be suddenly and forefully shut. Thankfully it never came off. Anyway by a supreme effort our German speaker managed to get 18 special places on a plane because of our circumstances.

So l began sorting rabies vaccinations and getting paperwork for the parvo, distemper etc ones l had already given. Making sure that l had all the confirmation for no heartworm signed up. Local vets were happy enough to provide this for us, they were nice enough, it was skill they lacked through bad training.

Arranging helpers and transport for 18 dogs and 18 travelling crates, from bull mastif size to cat size. At our end to the airport, at German end onward to foster homes.
All crates had to be delivered well before the day to set up, match dog to kennel space wise and then get them marked up for each traveller.

Freezing enough water bowls so that water did not slop out on take off/flight. A slow thaw meant the dogs did not go thirsty.
Plenty of torn paper for bedding. This soaked up any spill and made a warm bed for the dogs to snuggle into.
And NO sedation this is the biggest killer. Flying lowers the blood pressure, sedation lowers it more and the heart stops, or in such an alien environment the unsupervised animal can go hyperaesthetic (nuts)and injure its self.

Making sure that all paper work was attached to each crate so it could be viewed but not removed and lost. This was the last job done but it all had to be pre sorted so that it flowed on the day.

I was up for 5am on "The Day" and went into the kennels. As l arrived a smell assaulted my nose. Diarrhoea flowed in each kennel. I was stunned, my mind was blank in horror. If they did not go today then every animal on that list went into a bin bang. That was how important this mass flight was. There was no rescheduling, no second chance. With the circumstances as they were it was go or die.

An emergency call to Tony to confirm Buscopan (control of diarrhoea especially when pain or abdominal discomfort is present) and Kaolin and Morphine (to stop the flow) both medications in max. doses.

Then Buscopan, syringes, needles in hand l got busy injecting every dog. Buscopan goes into the muscle, and stings like heck. You often need help or a muzzle to go this route. There was one person me, and l had no time to muzzle anything.
By the time they had screamed or snarled in outrage the next dog was being pulled out and the stunned patient was flying back into the kennel. I had no time to be nice and l felt awful hurting them.

The dogs were just getting over this assault when l was hauling their heads back and pouring Kaolin and Morphine down their throats. I did 2 rounds of this to allow for "paint effect" spitting it out and painting everything with the mix.

By now it was about 8am and volunteers were yawning in. They were met with the sight of a barefoot madwoman covered with diarrhoea, Kaolin and Morphine, and trying to check temperatures and give instructions to helpers.
Some wanted to wait with the flight but they were vetoed, and everyone was in agreement that we had no choice.

Finally we had the dogs cleaned and we set off. The dogs stomaches had settled. Some crates were to be assembled at the airport for ease of carrige others were solid wood and non dismantalable. All paperwork was in order and by the time the flight left several hours later we were all emotionally shattered. I refused to leave till it was wheeles off "just in case" and everyone else felt the same.

The dogs arrived almost clear of diarrhoea and set off to new lives. A day later later l discovered the problem. It was bad bag of food, l had given the remains to one of the helpers as she had run out for her dog. A phone call the next day and she was giggling. Of all days for me to open that bag of food, the day before a major logistics attempt you couldn't script it.

The remaining 4 or so dogs were scheduled to fly out over the following few weeks but if worse came to worse we could foster them in houses short term. Then a couple of weeks later the council decided that they had been to abrupt and backed off. Slowly the kennels returned to full.
Several months later l left the island. About 8 months after that the kennels were moved to a different council area.

Special thanks for help goes to Judith for humour, mental grounding and travelling crate contacts, Elsie for her fluent spanish, German Sue for arranging the flight transport and everyone else who ever reads this and was involved on the "Big Day".