Bonnie Day

23 August 2019

B-9 hours.

We surfaced and gathered our belongings. Keen to get moving, to attack the 6 hours of driving as quickly as possible. We had absolutely loved the Aste Nagusia, but now it was B-day.

Whilst we had been sleeping he had transited in Dubai and was now (theoretically) airport again, heading towards Barcelona. It was all theoretical, however, as we hadn’t been notified by the agent in Dubai. Liz was not amused.

From Bilbao, we beat our way south, into the Rioja region and then the Navarra. As the car slept, Ant was entertained by the amazing and rapidly varying landscapes of central Spain and the dulcet tones of BBC’s Test Match Special broadcast of the 3rd Test at Headingly. Good times.

We made good time and hit the promised ‘air conditioned arrival lounge’ (read: freight terminal/warehouse, where the only air conditioning was provided by our trusty Duster) at 4pm. The package had landed, on time and 2 hours earlier, but Bonnie would be caught up in paperwork, veterinary checks etc.

B minus 2 hours

Liz is at the warehouse door, begging with the agent to see him. Claiming he needs his heart medication, pointing animatedly at her poor 3 daughters (queue looking sad and hopeful). Agent-guy promises to do everything he can to expedite the process to prevent imminent heart failure of either dog or small children.

B minus 1 hour

Liz manages to gain access, claim urgency of heart medication. Is in there for vet checks. Feeds Bonnie heart medicine. Confirms he is still alive and almost spritely. Vet is satisfied Bonnie is not a biosecurity risk. More paperwork still to do. Liz leaves again. Bonnie, convinced he is about to be put on another 48 hour flight, is heart-broken all over again.

We go to the shops, because there’s nothing else to do.

B minus 15 minutes

We are literally waiting in bay #27, our Duster trying to do its best ‘I’m a large truck’ impression.

B minus 1 minute

He’s coming! He’s coming!

A forklift driver is (fairly unceremoniously) carrying our precious cargo in his large orange and blue container/caravan across the warehouse. Ellie spots him first (thereby winning the dog spotting game) and, a minute later, a slightly sheepish, slightly confused looking Bonnie steps out, to be inundated with affection from a bunch of small children.

Exactly what he didn’t want, we’re sure. At least he didn’t bite them. We know he thought about it though.

Reunited, even more cramped than normal and with Bonnie’s caravan now attached to the roof, we searched out a dog beach where Bonnie could stretch his paws a bit and, more importantly, we could wash him off before the 90 minutes drive to Figueres and our last night in Spain.

We found one in the northern suburbs of Barcelona, absolutely heaving in the post-work summer sun. Parking was impossible. Putting up with the smell of a dog who had lived in a cage for 2 days and was now in our car was equally impossible. The solution to this conundrum was to sent Bonnie, Liz and Ellie down to the beach, whilst the rest of us loitered illegally around the area.

The plan was enacted. Unfortunately whilst Bonnie was wetting his paws and getting a good rub down of yet another Iberian nudist beach, Anthony was getting up close and personal with Barcelona’s finest, who didn’t appreciate the plan or the loitering strategy. 10 minutes of intense (but ultimately ineffectual) negotiation followed in multiple languages, passports and licenses were handed over and tickets started to be issued (apparently a very time consuming process in Spain when trying to fine someone driving on an Australian license in a leased French car). At the penultimate moment, my new found friend’s radio started blasting, he looked worriedly to his mate, said something unintelligible then threw my documents back at me and ran off. No ticket issued.

Anyone who has been to Barcelona would be shocked to realise that there could be a more terrible crime occurring in this city than a foreigner illegally stopped by a beach.

In any case, some God somewhere was obviously smiling on us – perhaps taking note of the uptick in our efforts to provide our kids some religious education?

Hot smelly, slightly dozy dog was exchanged for wet, salty, disgusting-in-a-different-way-but- happy dog as we squashed back into our car. Bonnie even looking longingly at his ‘roomy’ caravan on the roof as he squashed between Liz’s legs in the front.

Next stop Figueres and the classy Hotel Travé in the outskirts of town. Ellie was excited that it had 3 stars (we suspect largely self assessed). Despite not being as ‘shiny’ as our increasingly judgemental and hard to impress 9 year old would like, it was perfect for our needs.

Parking, pool and restaurant beckoned as we pulled in around 8pm, as did our super-sized family room including a bath – perfect for scrubbing down gross dogs (sorry Hotel Travé)!

We dumped our stuff, had a swim and a well earned beer on the terrace. Bonnie was lying next to us, looking happy and relatively relaxed – but perhaps not quite yet believing that he wasn’t about to be put back into his ‘caravan’.