Frank el cachorro podenco.

Last Saturday we took possession of a podenco* puppy, 3 months old, up for adoption from the rescue centre here.

I didn't want to jinx it by blipping him too soon, as although we had jumped through the administative hoops I had a feeling it would not turn out well. The puppy was named Nus, but we renamed him Frank as his expression reminded me of a world-weary old gent in a cloth cap drinking pints in a British pub (apologies to any Franks out there). He was quite a livewire, playing with Minnie2 who gave back as good as she got when savaged by razor-sharp teeth, to the huge enjoyment of both, and once he'd had all his jabs he was set to be a great walking companion. Note the past tense. It was all going well and though we'd only had him for 5 days there was a definite bonding process going on. He seemed happy with his new pack. Today we were visited by the Rescue Centre equivalent of the Spanish Inquisition, come to check allegedly on how he was getting on with the other dogs. He was scooped up immediately and held all through the intrusive questioning such as Are there any dog toys he can play with (Only a whole room full) and does he interact with the cats next door (No) and are the cats looked after properly and kept in at night and given all their shots (I haven't a clue). While one of them held him away from the other dogs, the other nasty English lady grilled me relentlessly, as if I had no idea how to look after dogs, having only had them for over 30 years. I think she was looking for an excuse to take him back for some reason (maybe a friend wanted him or there was some dodgy dealing going on somewhere). They had come well before the appointed time, so I was the only human in the house, and struggled a bit under the intense scrutiny, starting to stammer and forget words as I do in these conditions. Minnie2 took an instant dislike to her, and wouldn't come near when I called her: the woman said she was disobedient and nervous and that could affect the new dog. I tried to placate the ogre, smiling and nodding and agreeing for all I was worth, but when my partner returned it was a different matter. He got the measure of her at once, tried to be polite but was shouted down, and then told her if we were such bad people she should take the puppy back. She was furious at being spoken back to, ordered me to bring the things he came with (basket,toys,food,lead etc) and by the time I brought them out she was closing her car boot lid on a puzzled looking Frank. I didn't even get to say goodbye to him, and until then we'd had a really nice day together in the garden.

We only had 5 days with him, so not many pictures; I include some in extras to remember him. I'm still in shock from the awful experience - he could have had a really good life with us.



*The warren hounds are a group of Mediterranean rabbit-hunting dog breeds. In Spanish, this type of breed is called podenco, and in Portuguese podengo. Most warren hounds have erect ears, a smooth coat, a slender body, and a whip-like tail.