A chain gang style leash has been developed to prevent the 17 year old Rufus running off to chase a rabbit and forgetting she was ever owned. This has periodically happened during the 15 years she has lived with us. Once, in her younger days, she ended up 50 km away. She has scooted off within the past 6 months so we’re not out of the woods yet, although she has the potential to be. The slower and wearier, albeit younger, Puppy has become the anchor to Rufus... the ponderous double bass to the fit as a fiddle.
One of our first stops was Santiago de Compostela where, like true pilgrims, the elderdogs went barefoot up the hill to the cathedral to view the resting place of the bones of St James, but, alas, they were unable to chew them. Instead, they sampled a whole plate of Iberian ham.
Today they visited the beach for the first time ever. Yes, they lapped the salty water and yes, they made a face. They were encouraged to take a dip but, like the best poets, found the waves unfathomable. Mr. Carrot was ignored despite his engaging squeak. Something of a setback occurred when a "beach official" told us dogs were only allowed from 9 pm to 9 am so we had to depart after an hour. This must be a strange Spanish custom along with all the 70+ year old power walkers striding back and forth across the sands in their droves clad in their swim suits, seemingly not appreciating the setting at all. Sneaking suspicion one of them reported the dogs.