Away on holiday

Many apologies for those of you for whom I am sure the arrival of my latest Dogblog is a much anticipated event, but I have been on my holidays. We all have, myself, the two tall ones, and even Ella was included. Our destination was the ancient town of Lagos on the Algarve coast of southern Portugal, a foreign country for which this dog did not even have to show his passport. We stayed in a small but very well located complex called Dona Ana Garden and as an economical but comfortable choice we would certainly recommend it.

It has to be said that we dogs are creatures of habit, content with a regular daily routine and like nothing more than to know where we are and what's expected of us. Why else do you thinking we can show daily excitement at meal times when the same sloppy brown goo is served up, day after day? Of course the occasional savoury surprise extra is always welcome, be we expect and are content with the monotony of our daily nourishment. I explain all this to illustrate that routine is part of our makeup, it is in our doggy nature, and as such we don't necessarily need to be packed into the back of a car for six hours in order to change this routine by way of a holiday. Holidays are, I believe, an entirely human concept, unless, of course, you count the annual migration of birds, fish and wilder beasts across the plains of Africa.

Not wishing to be too ungrateful, though, I did enjoy the new smells of the Portuguese streets and the chance to let the wind blow back my ears on the expansive and empty golden beaches of the western Atlantic coast. What I did not enjoy was being towed around various towns on the end of a lead and not being allowed to stop and sniff at each and every lamp post, kerb stone or litter bin. If you have time to spare you could play the video below to gain some idea of the experience I had to endure.


Coastal holidays are all well and good, but since moving to Spain I have become a mountain dog, and so the only place I can truly recommend for a memorable break from routine is a stay at Cortijo Opazo.


But now, at long last up here in the mountains, the rain is falling and this may well turn to snow, so it's time to light the fire a curl up with with a collection of poetry. I've heard that T. S Eliot has been voted the nation's favourite poet by a BBC poll, chiefly, I expect, due to his 'Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats' that was popularised and vulgarised by a theatrical musical with a much briefer name. I'm going to see what the fuss is all about and try inventing some poetry about canine escapades.


Yours, dreaming of being Poet Laureate,


Fergus