The huge, woolly dogs howled as their owner left the small house that also served as a kennel. It’s like a cabin in the Yukon with all that yodeling. The dogs could be huskies or a wolf breed, but what good would the pets be here on the Costa del Sol?
There’s no point in owning huskies unless you could use them to take groceries home in the snow if you didn’t have coin for the cart.
I am now at home. It took seven minutes to get through Kerry Airport this morning. Terrible delay. It used to take five and another five to get to the car.
Our airport is thriving. People go crazy for the road and vitamin D before the reality of heating the house kicks in. I knew a man who burned all the furniture for heat one winter.
He told the council that bought the tables and chairs it was the woodworm. The same man drank the peat money.
Drinks are cheaper in Spain. It would save a ton of money if you were a heavy drinker. But then again, most really big drinkers don’t go to the pub. They drink at home to save the money. But will it be cheaper from now on to go to the pub and turn off the heat and put out the fire? Or maybe call on unsuspecting relatives as heat collectors and drinking scroungers.
It reminds me of the old story by Niall Tóibín, which is as relevant today as it was in the 1980s. The woman of the house says to her husband: “Turn off the heating. Put on a scarf and coat. This minute.”
“That’s great,” he says happily, and snaps for a drink, but stops because he drank too much the night before.
“Lets go out?” he asks, his tongue stuck to the palate like a stamp.
“No,” replies his wife. “I’m going out, but you’re staying here.”
Shops in Spain are full of winter wool goods. No one at home would even think of wearing a coat until dripping slime turned into stalactites and socks froze on the clothesline like a set of bodyless legs.
I noticed that the Chinese supermarket had Aran-type sweaters for sale. The Chinese know a good thing when they see it.
The howling has started again. The Wolf Whisperer can only walk one dog at a time. They are just too big to bring out in pairs. Performing all four is arguably illegal, like hitchhiking or driving an old Massey on the freeway.
I wanted to see what breed it is. Take a picture and refer to an app like Name the Dog. There’s one for bird song and maybe it’s possible to find a companion app for identifying dog breeds, barking and howling.
I managed to stop myself from looking. This investigative reporting is not for those of us who don’t have big dogs. I’m afraid of dismemberment.
I used to get quite scared in history class at school, when we were told the stories of the Irish rebels being routinely disemboweled.
I was once on my way to Biarritz in south-west France for a game in Munster. We took the scenic off-highway route, stopping for drinks in every village along the way.
The toilets in the rural parts of France were basic. The women’s restroom consisted of two parallel wooden telephone poles. It took a bit of maneuvering and lowering like they do at the Blarney Stone for the kiss that breaks peace and quiet in thousands of American homes.
The men’s restroom was exposed to the elements with a broken door. Just as I sat down, a large German Shepherd appeared in front of me. That’s a dog we’re talking about now.
He held me captive for about an hour until the owner came to the rescue. My friends didn’t even realize I was gone and I thought I was the life and soul of the party. The owner said the dog was a pet but he stared at me while I was trapped in the outhouse.
Large dog owners only see the good in their four-legged companions,
I’m craving a desperate dose of Fomo or Fear of Missing Out. I think I’ve had it since I was a boy. I had it when the dog took me. I was always the last one to come home after a night out. I used to think it was a second wind or incredible stamina, but the whole time the fomo drove me.
I’m sure many of you have heard of Fomo, but this morning I was told about the disease for the first time. Fomo definitely sent me on a quest for Munster’s first win in the Heineken Cup and several other major sporting events. Fomo could have made me want to be a sportswriter for 20 years.
Here I bring true or mostly true stories from abroad and I’m sure the family bowling tournament I’ve been missing will be at the top with Italia ’90.
So I decided to take a short walk to join the bowling. Four large dogs are sitting in front of the owner’s house. The gate seems high enough, but maybe piggyback them.
Right next to the kennel is a sign that reads “Multa para defacation de perros” and then helpfully in bold red writing “Penalty for dog excrement 600 euros”.
So that’s 2,400 euros a day if each of the wolves only defecates one.
I wholeheartedly agree with this high penalty.
We should introduce similar laws as the streets in and around the area we were staying in were immaculate apart from the disposal of old sofas and armchairs. Spanish streets are full of old sofas and worn furniture.
I stayed the night last night and was sent pics from the pub by family who I always miss even if we’re only briefly apart. The week together was something special, with very little Fomo.
There is no better company than the ones we love.
I like to go away, but I also like to come home. Sometimes you have to leave the place you love to understand how much it means to you.
Nowhere is better.
https://www.independent.ie/opinion/comment/the-fomo-for-whats-happening-back-home-is-creeping-in-as-i-busy-myself-keeping-spanish-wolves-from-the-door-42049590.html The FOMO for what’s happening at home creeps in while I’m busy keeping Spanish wolves out the door