And then there were three...

Bimbo in the refuge caravan

Saturday April 1, 2006: April Fool’s Day. Second visit to the refuge today. It’s a beautiful day, how a south of France day should be; bluest sky, slight breeze, the odd cloud wafting along – unlike that first visit when it rained all day long - the day I adopted Columbo and Rox.

Katie – beautiful, talented, artistic Katie - who created and works on the Pension Milou website, is with me. She, to take photos of the dogs for the Refuge de Flassans website and me to take notes.

We take our time; get to know some of the dogs. I go off and find Benji, a beautiful Griffon I’d noticed last time. I’d looked at his photograph and thought about him over the weeks, wondered if I shouldn’t perhaps adopt him but he’s a lively dog, perhaps too lively for life at Pension Milou, especially with Columbo and his epilepsy. I have enough lively dogs en pension as it is! Anyway I’ve not come to the refuge today to adopt a dog, that’s for sure.

Katie is taking hundreds of photos; we go in and out of runs to speak to the dogs – so many great dogs here who will make superb family pets if only they can find new owners.

Eventually we are thru and gather at the entrance to the refuge to say our goodbyes: to Marjorie and Maria, the caring English bénévoles (volunteers) who go to the refuge every Saturday to help feed the dogs, and to Nicole, the hard-working English girl who works there now.

Meeting Bimbo

I look around: a black and tan hound, with the longest ears I’ve ever seen, lumbers towards us, gently wagging his tail. I don’t know where he’s come from. Maria explains that this is Bimbo and he’s sleeping in the caravan at the moment, as he’s not been well.

I'd heard about Bimbo. Knew that he often gets massive ear problems. Both ears had been operated on in the past but he needs further surgery. He is recuperating, following some veterinary treatment, from another spell of infection and fever. Maria tells me she feared for his life the week before - he had been so wobbly on his legs and refused food. Today, he's weak but he comes out to greet Maria, who has been giving him special food to tempt him to eat. She says he is much better than he'd been the week before.

In the caravan

He wanders back into the caravan and I go in. He’s lying in the corner on an old mattress looking pathetic as only hounds can. Hang dog helpless. I leave the caravan. I go back in again. I come out and say, ‘Perhaps I’ll give it some thought. See how it goes. Maybe I’ll take him another time.’ Maria tells me I should only take him if I feel it’s absolutely right. Then Katie comes up and says, ‘Oh brilliant, Jilly, you are going to take Bimbo.’ She’s right of course. I couldn’t have left without him. And so whilst Nicole and I sort the paperwork in the office, Maria, Marjorie and Katie, get Bimbo into the car.

Maria & Marjorie caring for Bimbo - I'm off to do the paperwork

In the car, waiting to leave the refuge

Once home, I bathe him but avoid his poor ears. On Monday we go to Louise, my vet. She draws two full syringes of nasty viscous fluid from a big lump way below his ears. She confirms it's not an abscess and says he’ll need specialist surgery but first puts him on antibiotics for a couple of weeks. Then he goes to Dr. El Baze in Nice. He is four and a half hours on the operating table. It’s a complicated operation.

The vet has to unravel the nerves that lead from ear to eye – he says he is concerned that Bimbo’s eye reflexes will work properly. For the moment he’s having les larmes artificielles (artificial tears) three times a day and we’ll know in three weeks if there is any lasting damage to those nerves. Dr. El Baze has removed both eardrums. Bimbo has stitches right along the edges of the ear, the ear canal and way down his neck on both sides. With his head shaved on either side and all the stitching, he looks like some punk rocker except this dog won’t hear music of any sort again.

The vet asks me something about my car. I find him difficult to understand. I assume he is asking if my car is comfortable, concerned that it won’t be too bumpy a ride for poor Bimbo. ‘Well it’s an old car,’ I say, ‘15 years old, but the ride will be smooth enough and I’ll drive slowly and carefully round bends and up the hills. Maybe he should stay in the surgery overnight,’ I suggest. ‘No, no,’ he says, ‘I’m asking about your car because he is dripping serum all over the place and I don’t want your car to get messed up.’ Well, thank God for that, I think: the car passes muster. I tell him, ‘Dog people don’t have posh cars.’

A shaved, stitched and poorly Bimbo

Bimbo drips serum and blood all the way home and continues to do so for several days. The swelling in both ears is horrendous and burning hot to the touch. He’s on painkillers and antibiotics to fight the massive staphylococci and streptoccoci infections. Poor dog, he has a very bad two or three days but then, miraculously, he starts to get better. So much so that by the fifth day, following the operation, he’s up on his hind legs trying to steal food of the counter. Good boy!

I’ve never seen a Bruno de Jura before and that’s what Bimbo is - bit like a Thurber dog really. They are one of six varieties of Swiss Hound that go back to antiquity. A mosaic found in Avenches places them in the Roman Helvetia era. In the 15th century the Swiss Hound was popular among Italian dog-lovers, and in the 18th century it was extremely popular with the French. The breed standard for the Swiss Hound was established in 1882 and revised in 1909.

I can tell you that Bimbo is the most gentle dog, very intelligent and best of all, he makes my most favourite sound in all the world: thump, thump, thump - the thump of a contented dog’s tail everytime I walk past his chair.

Adoption Day at the Refuge!

Columbo at the refuge

It’s ‘adoption’ day – February 21, 2006. I’m driving to the Var to adopt one or even two dogs from a refuge that the British community on the French Riviera heard about. It has 87 dogs, housed in dreadful conditions – you can read about this and how the Brits have been helping feed and clean at Le Refuge de Flassans and at Katie's Refuge SAM de Flassans.

Adopting a dog is not part of the plan for the year. The ‘dog of my life’ - Milou, the American cocker - and for whom Pension Milou was named – died last May and then in January, Flavia the yellow lab - my last dog, an old retired guide dog for the blind, went to doggy heaven. The last thing on my mind is getting another dog and certainly not right away. Perhaps in a year or even six months I had said to myself, after all, this place is full of other people’s dogs, so I’m hardly lacking the company of dogs. Sitting in a chair smothered in dogs: two on my lap, one sitting on each arm, one on the cushion behind my head, and big ones at my feet – no, there's no lack of dogs around here.

My friends Sheila and Katie come with me. Sheila to stop me bringing home too many and Katie to take photos for the refuge website she's set up and both to give moral support. I know I’m going to need these two wonderful people.

Rox at the refuge

It’s raining as we get near to the refuge – it was forecast – and I’ve brought a raincoat, a thick jacket to go under it, a rain hat– we’ve all got welly boots. The place is a quagmire, many dogs standing in 10 inches of water, their sleeping quarters are plastic airline cages filled with straw – soaking wet after they’ve gone in and out of the rain several times. They’ll be sleeping cold and wet tonight. This is no life for a dog.

I plan on taking the two oldest dogs in the refuge, as I know they have a no euthanasia policy. An older, suffering dog has the right to help when it’s time. But to tell the truth, it’s not that I’m being a goody-two-shoes in deciding to take older dogs, it’s that I don’t feel ready to make a long-term commitment yet and so older ones will be easier. No big deal for me to have a couple of extra dogs lying about the place – they’ll be happy and comfortable till the end of their days and I’ll gain brownie points for my soul.

Having said that I’d already seen a photo of Columbo when I uploaded his likeness onto the website. Those eyes seemed to speak to me and he’s not an older dog - only 5 or 6 years of age.

‘Where is Columbo,’ I ask. I’m taken to his pen where he stands, soaking wet, as were all the dogs. He is filthy, scared, skin and bone, ribs sticking out – backing off when David, the man who works there, approaches him. Terrified, he lets me hold his head. I looked into those sad eyes. ‘He’s epileptic,’ says David, ‘he doesn’t see very well either.’ I’ll take him, I say.

Columbo leaving the refuge

We continue walking round the pens. I look at Tara, a Great Dane cross of 13 but David says she is dominant with other females and that wouldn’t work here. She’ll make a lovely pet. I hope someone takes her and allows her to live out her last years in comfort. I see a beautiful griffon type dog. David says he’s not good with other males. I wonder if that is true.

I ask to see more older dogs. David takes me to see Rox, a Brittany spaniel type – perhaps crossed with a golden retriever. I walk into his pen: a boggy enclosure - Rox is standing in water. 13 years old. I bend down to take a look into his beautiful face. I ask him if he’d like to come and live with me but before I’ve finished speaking, he licks my rain-soaked face. David says ‘He never does that.’ Probably not true, this is one affectionate dog. ‘He’s got a bad rear end,’ he says. ‘How long has he been in the refuge,’ I ask. David replies, ‘4 years.’ ‘I’ll take him too,’ I say.

Rox leaving the refuge

The rain never ceases. We are all soaked and I’d still not seen all the dogs. Katie is busy photographing dogs for the website. It is time for us go. I go into the refuge office to pay for the dogs and get what paperwork is available. Meanwhile, happily for me, Katie and Sheila are getting the dogs into the car. Rox jumps onto the back seat as if he knew it was his car and he is settled down with a towel over him. Columbo is a different matter. He is one terrified dog.

It’s time to leave. I get out of my stinky welling boots and into shoes but then have to get out again as I’ve lost my driving glasses. Mistake! My shoes sink into dog poop and mud. The car is steaming up and the smell from the dogs is pretty fierce. Eventually, I get my act together, spectacles are found, shoes are cleaned (well sort of) and off we go. Columbo barks. Columbo barks the whole journey. Katie travels facing the back, bless her, trying to calm him – Sheila sings him a lullaby, which miraculously works for a few brief minutes, but basically our Columbo isn’t a happy camper. He’s one scared dog as he sings his sad hound song.

Columbo in the bath

We drop Katie off at her home in the Var and when we get home, Sheila, bless her, says she’ll come in and help me bath them. Meanwhile, Columbo continues to bark. Becky, who has been looking after the dogs who are staying here, keeps them happy whilst Sheila and I get stuck into the task in hand. Bathtime! I get into the bath, fully dressed, the water runs red, brown, filthy, but eventually we are done.

Sheila and Becky leave. I offer the dogs food. Rox woofs his down and then finds himself a comfortable bed and flops out. He’s lived in a home before. Columbo won't eat. He continues to bark.

Rox being bathed by Jilly and Sheila

Elaine arrives to collect Arthur – she had rescued Arthur from the Menton refuge and she knew I’d been taken with Colombo’s photograph. She had too. So she comes in to see him. Columbo continues to bark. I wonder what breed Columbo is, if indeed he is a breed. I look him up in one of my dog books; he looks very like an English foxhound with longer legs, slightly different jowls perhaps.

By now Columbo hasn’t stopped barking for 6 hours. I read what the book says: ‘Noisy. Does not make a good pet.’ At which point I burst into tears. What have I done? What about Columbo?

Columbo backs away from me. He walks into everything; he walks right across his water bowl and spills it. He backs off my touch. Has he been beaten? Is it his eyes?

Eventually I get him behind the baby gate in the kitchen, having made him a comfortable bed. I go to bed. I’m exhausted. Columbo barks ALL night. I don’t sleep. I worry how I’ll cope.

This is a mistake. I’m judging Old English Sheepdogs at Crufts in two weeks time. I should be relaxing, doing my nails and thinking about the task in hand and what an honour it is that the Kennel Club have invited me to judge at the biggest and most prestigious dog show in the world. It is every dog judge's dream. Yet here I am with a dog who barks 24 hours a day - what chance of relaxing, let alone sleep? And what about poor Columbo?

Columbo in the garden

It’s the next day and slowly a miracle takes place. Columbo barks less, he eats, and he’s beginning –very slowly – to relax. He allows me to stroke his body. I can’t touch his head. Rox is already in heaven. Columbo will take longer.

Columbo and Pickle

Update: Since then Columbo has been castrated (sorry gentlemen, necessary for all male dog who live here) he’s had his teeth cleaned, toenails cut. They’ve both had tests for leishmaniosis (results tomorrow) inoculations updated and they’ve been wormed. Rox has bad hips, so he’s on medication. Tomorrow he goes in for teeth cleaning. He is already castrated.

Rox on the sofa

And how is it now? Columbo never ever barks, he wags his tail; he jumps for joy when he sees me, as does sweet old Rox.

Rox in the garden

And me? Of course, I’ve fallen madly in love with an epileptic half-blind hound and a dysplastic spaniel-retriever cross.

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Flannel and calm Chi

Flannel

The rains have gone – it was endless – days and days of rain. Boggy land, mud, wet dogs: rain and a doggy pension don’t go together. But now, the sun is shining, the sky is blue, the Mediterranean an even deeper blue – a perfect south of France winter day. The dog towels and blankets are washed and the floors have been cleaned. All is well with the world except there is a hurricane at Pension Milou and his name is Flannel.

Let it be known: I don’t take puppies, especially boisterous male puppies and especially Weimaraners. So what is Flannel doing here? When his owner called, recommended by another client, I said NO in large letters. Yes, I know Weimaraners are beautiful and anyone who has seen William Wegman’s amazing photographs http://www.wegmanworld.com can’t fail to be blown away but, you see, I had a girl Weimaraner at Christmas: beautiful Syrah, very high energy, so it didn’t take much working out that a 5 month old male wouldn’t exactly add to a peaceful life around here. Flannel was too young, the breed too energetic - been there, done that, got the puppy tee shirt – give me the oldies, give me the well-behaved dogs.

A day or so later, Flannel’s owner, such a nice lady and so persuasive, called again and asked if I’d reconsider. She’d seen the website – she knew this place would be perfect for Flannel.

So he’s here. Someone send me back to school and teach me to say NO and mean it! He’s beautiful of course: velvet coat, divine eyes, when he stands on his hind legs he’s almost human but he has a few small faults. He eats plants, stones, fabric, furniture. He thinks the house is a racetrack. He pees in the house from time to time. He wakes me in the night - every night - to go out and we walk around the garden at 4 a.m. Gosh, it’s fun running a dog hotel.

My best friend, Candy, sends ‘calme chi’ by email. ‘Chi master says every experience is a blessing. Celebrate the learning.’ ‘Positive energy,’ she says. ‘Maybe you should sit down with Flannel and try to figure out how his energy is working – that way you’ll learn how to work with him. The chi way would not be to try to overpower the situation but to go with it.’

Right then. Note to self: keep bucket of disinfectant ready. Look up furniture catalogues to replace chewed items. No pruning needed in the garden for six months – dog has done it for me. Throw out alarm clock - got a live one: grey velvet with beautiful green eyes – programmed to go off when I’m in my deepest dream-filled sleep.

So, we plod on. I’m getting used to the chaos. Flannel is learning. One more week to go before I get a full night’s sleep again. And will I take him again? When I look at the chaos around here or look in the mirror at my face, wrecked even more than usual by lack of sleep – of course I won’t. When I look into those beautiful Weimaraner eyes, yes of course I will.

And so? Watch this space…