Here’s the story of my recent trip from my home in France to Cordoba and back, with a team from L’Europe des Levriers. We brought 14 galgos and a couple of podencos back with us, for fostering and rehoming in France.
Trip to Cordoba 0609
It was hot and sunny in Parthenay when I set off. ‘Hope you’ve got air conditioning in the car’, commented my co-driver. Well, of course I have, I just open the windows! ‘There’s rain forecast for Madrid and Cordoba’, she said hopefully; she doesn’t like hot weather.
I’d asked Dawn if she’d like to come along on my latest expedition into Spain as part of a team with L’Europe des Levriers, to visit refuges in the Cordoba and Madrid areas and to bring back rescued galgos for rehoming in France. From past experience I know that Bea likes to cover the kilometres, especially on the return trip to France with dogs in the car, and especially if the weather is likely to be hot. She usually doesn’t organise rescues during July and August as it would be dangerous for the health of the dogs to travel during the day in a 4-wheeled metal box. With well over 2,500 kilometres to cover in just 4 days, it’s vital to have another human being in the car, for company, to share the driving, someone to talk to break the monotony of the motorway driving, and to help with the dogs when they need a pee break.
With my trusty Volvo checked over by my resident mechanic (read ‘husband’) and the car piled high with donated bedding, dog coats, dog food, leads and collars for the refuges we were to visit, I set off alone for the 2 hour drive down to Bordeaux to collect Dawn. This was her first rescue. ‘You’ll only need an overnight bag with a change of clothing, some drinking water bottles and some biscuit bar nibbles’, I said: so the large plastic cool box had to be sent back, as we needed the room for the dogs.
We headed for Bayonne on the western coast of France, a border town which is more Spanish than French. ‘I won’t take you past the bull ring’, I said, ‘I hate to see it myself’. Sat Nav Garmin – Gertie to us – was programmed to find the Campanile hotel, where we met up with the rest of the team. ‘Early night for us’, we said, as we left the others to finish their dinner. We knew we needed a good rest before the long drive down to Cordoba the next day.
A 0630 alarm clock roused us to bright sunshine, for an early breakfast with the team, I clicked on ‘Hotel Marisa, Cordoba’ (where it had been arranged we would all stay the following night) on the Sat Nav, and off the convoy set. Luckily my Volvo is right-hand drive and manual gearbox, so Dawn was quite happy to take the steering wheel, over the border to the mountains in the Basque area of northern Spain. This area reminds of me of Austria, with its chalet-style houses, coniferous forests and bubbling mountain streams. One thing about driving a long distance like this in such a short space of time is seeing how much the scenery changes on the drive south.
Heading away from the mountains along the A63, the scenery changed to huge cranes standing silent, concrete apartment blocks where work was on hold, earthworks where the trucks stood still. Dawn remarked on how close many apartment blocks were to the motorway – it is difficult for the 2 of us to imagine living somewhere like that, coming from rural France where we are surrounded by green meadows and vineyards.
On to the N1, onwards to Vitoria Gasteiz and Burgos – Castilla Leon – ‘this is the start of the bad lands for the galgos’, I explained. We were both silent for a while, reflecting on the sights which might greet us when we got to Cordoba. We are both passionate animal lovers and were mentally preparing ourselves for the emotional roller coaster ride ahead.
As we cruised along the A62 towards Madrid, Dawn told me a tale which she had recently heard from a friend who regularly travels between their holiday apartment on the southern coast of Spain to their home in France. ‘Beware of the bogus police’, said Ian. ‘They will flash a ‘warrant card’ at you, waive you over to the hard shoulder, and then rob you’. Well, we reckon we’re two pretty tough ladies and any potential ‘masqueraders’ would have a fight on their hands if they tried it on with us!
The scenery had changed now, open plains with the occasional olive grove, massive black metal bulls standing high on the hillsides, isolated buildings where it would be quite easy to keep a pack of galgos during the winter hunting season. This was a contrast to the drive through Madrid city, a high speed traffic jam, roads 4 and 5 lanes wide – got to have your wits about you not to get lost. Thank goodness for Gertie Garmin!
With the main part of the city behind us, a small blue car pulled alongside us, the passenger flashing a police warrant card at us and motioning us to pull over to the hard shoulder. ‘I’m not stopping’ said Dawn and concentrated on putting her foot down and looking straight ahead. A short time later, the same thing happened – the car pulled alongside us, the passenger flashing a police warrant card and pointing for us to pull on the hard shoulder. It is not unusual for plain clothes police in the UK to ask you to pull over to the hard shoulder so, as the warrant card and badge looked genuine to me although there was no Guardia identification on the car and the occupants were not in the grey and black uniform of the Guardia, Dawn agreed to stop, but we were both on ‘alert’, just in case.
The driver stayed in the blue car. The passenger, a slim dark-haired Spaniard dressed in blue trousers, sleeveless blue pullover over a brown shirt with 3 stripes on one arm, approached Dawn’s side of the car – remember, we are in a right-hand drive car – showed his warrant card – which clearly said Tourist Police – and badge and said they were looking for a car from Belgium carrying drugs. He asked to see our identification, so I flashed my French driving licence. He put his hand in the car to take it, but I kept a tight hold and refused. Dawn then took her licence out, I grabbed it off her and held it well away from his hand. Dawn then told him in no uncertain terms ‘ You’re not police’. He wafted his hand at his stripes, flashed his warrant card again. ‘Looking for car carrying drugs’, he repeated, put his hand in the car and made to open the car door on Dawn’s side. By this time I am shouting angrily at him ‘Stop’, Dawn still saying ‘you’re not police’. He made to put his hand in the car again towards Gertie Garmin, sitting on the dashboard. That was the last straw for us. With two English women shouting at him like a pair of very angry wasps, he withdrew his hand, stepped back from the car and waived us to join the traffic.
By this time we were both shaking, from anger and also reaction to what could have been an unpleasant situation. We mulled over what made us suspicious.
1. The car had no Guardia identification, not even a sign in the back window which would light up and say ‘stop’.
2. The man walked straight to the driver’s door – remember, it’s a right-hand drive car with a French registration – normally the police walk to the left-hand side of the car.
3. His warrant card said Tourist Police in English!
4. He wasn’t in uniform.
5. He wafted his hand at his ‘stripes’ on his shirt
6. He kept putting his hand in the car.
7. The driver never got out of his car.
So, if any of you reading this are planning on driving through Spain, watch out for the bogus ‘police’ who focus on foreign drivers/cars – especially right-hand drive and UK registered – and don’t stop. It’s always easy to be wise after the event, but I should have thought to write down his car registration number and pass it on to the Spanish police later.
We were now heading for the hell-hole of Ciudad Real, the weather getting much hotter and the land more flat and barren. I’ve been to Ciudad Real before, it’s where I went two years ago to collect my beloved galga Karmel from the La Bienvenida refuge. It’s not an ancient city, no claims to a beautiful cathedral or landmark, just a dirty conglomeration in the middle of ‘galgo land’.
La Bienvenida refuge holds nearly 200 dogs, many of them pedigree, most of them mixed breed, heartlessly abandoned by their owners and with no hope of ever leaving the place except dead, but where the team of volunteers do a wonderful job of looking after them.
Then there is also the Pedro Munoz refuge, also holding dozens of dogs, many of them with just a wooden pallet to shelter under in the freezing winter overnight temperatures, and where Loli and her team work under enormous pressure constantly, dealing with the abandoned dogs, especially galgos taken there. They live in fear that when September approaches, and the start of the next hunting season, many of the galgos in their care will be stolen by gypsies and galguerros to start again the cycle of the hunting season and abandonment at the end – or even hanging alive, dropping down a well, being burned alive.
We passed signs for Toledo, Badajoz, Valladolid, Jaen, all familiar names to me as hell holes for galgos. By now the scenery has changed from flat plains to undulating olive groves – olive trees as far as the eye can see – interspersed with plantations of almond trees. The temperature is hot, really hot, it’s late afternoon, and we are both looking forward to the cool of the Hotel Marisa, a shower, and an evening meal. Gertie Garmin was programmed to take us to the hotel, so I wasn’t worried about getting lost in Cordoba. However, she didn’t know about road works and building renovation, and so we crossed the river Guadalquivir several times before eventually coming across half a dozen motor cycle cops stopped across the road into which Garmin wished to direct us. As neither Dawn nor I speak Spanish – apart from Hola, adios, por favour, gracias – it was difficult for Dawn to follow the directions given to her. She stoically hung onto as many words as she could, including the word ‘Angel’ and, as remnants of her Latin lessons at school came to the fore in her mind, she picked out basic directions. Good Woman!
It took us another hour to find the Hotel Marisa, tucked well into the mediaeval quarter of Cordoba behind the huge Mosque, one hotel amongst many in the narrow streets. The receptionist didn’t seem to know anything about 4 rooms booked for L’Europe des Levriers’, but we weren’t bothered, all we wanted was a cool shower and a meal. We’d driven from Bayonne to Cordoba in just the one day and were feeling tired and hungry. I texted Bea to let her know we had arrived at the hotel ok, so she knew where we were.
A while later she telephoned me. ‘We changed the plans, we’re not staying at the hotel, we’re staying at an apartment for free’. A short silence from me. I asked her to repeat what she had just said, which she did. By this time it is 8 o’clock in the evening, Dawn and I are very hungry – and when we get hungry, we get bad tempered. Suffice to say that we spent the next 2 and a half hours sitting in the lounge of the Hotel Marisa, waiting for someone to come and explain to the receptionist that we would not be using the room after all, and take us to the apartment where we would be spending the night.
Alberto arrived about 1030 (2230) with a lovely blind cocker spaniel on the end of a lead. Alberto didn’t speak any English, but after a lot of hand signals we eventually established that I was to get my car out of the hotel’s underground garage, put our bags in it, and he would take us to Bea and the rest of the group. By this time we are even more bad tempered – tired and hungry and with another long day ahead of us. Alberto directed us to another part of Cordoba, we parked the car, and followed him to the street café area, buzzing with the night lifers settled in for a few hours to drink and eat. No sign of the rest of the team, no table at which to sit and have a meal.
Eventually Bea and the Spanish volunteer Patricia arrived. Patricia, who would be taking us o the refuges the following day to collect our galgos, speaks good English, and so we were eventually able to make it understood that it was too late for us to eat, and we just wanted to be taken to the apartment where we would sleep for the night. Leaving the rest of the team to settle down at a table for dinner – remember, by this time it is nearly midnight! – Patricia took us to her friend’s apartment. It was still a very warm night and Dawn said, hopefully, ‘tomorrow it’s going to rain, the weather forecast said so. Patricia replied, ‘in Cordoba it’s hot, hot and very hot. No rain!’ We had a quick wash, and dived into bed, exhausted mentally and physically, and still starving hungry!
We were up at 0630 again the following morning as, yet again, we had a very long day ahead of us. Dawn could barely crawl out of bed. Her head was throbbing and she felt sick. I was extremely concerned how she would get through the day, with the heat, the driving and so far from home. Patricia arrived to guide us all to the first refuge – 60kms south of Cordoba towards Seville.
We had problems finding it, amongst the poppy fields, but the sound of barking dogs directed us to a small complex of whitewashed stone buildings surrounded by 2m high fencing.
We parked up inside the compound, were greeted by a pleasant volunteer and taken through another gate into another compound, interspersed with olive trees for shade, in which several galgos were running free. Along one side of this, backing onto a whitewashed stone wall were a dozen runs in with 3 or 4 dogs in each, all in good condition and most very friendly and vociferous in their welcome. Here Dawn’s tears ran free. It’s very hard, seeing all these lovely dogs, most of whom will probably spend the rest of their lives there without much hope of being adopted. You just want to take them all home. But at least they are well looked after, have regular meals, shade and beds out of the high summer temperatures, and are happy in their own way.
From here we went into the square courtyard of the small complex, 8 or 10 runs against every wall, all full of dogs. A huge olive tree in the centre provided some relief from the heat, and several dogs of assorted sizes were running free. All the dogs get a turn to be let out to play at some point during the day.
Amongst these dogs was a cringing, skinny white galga – cowering away from us humans – a pitiful sight. When the volunteer eventually guided her back into the run, he showed us her scars. Two weeks before she had been brought into the refuge, a victim of the barbaric practice of hanging a galgo from a tree to die. The picture speaks for itself. She will be microchipped, vaccinated and blood tested for her EU passport, and Bea will bring her out of Spain in the next rescue.
Three galgos were in a small separate compound where Bea, Jerome and the volunteer put Scalibor collars round their necks, to protect them from the bites of the sandfly which can cause leishmania. These dogs will also come out on the next rescue.
As we were loading our half dozen galgos into our cars, an old car pulled up at the side of mine. The back was full of cardboard boxes full of day-old chicks, which the driver proceeded to carry inside the building. Was that the evening dinner for all the dogs?
We bade farewell to the volunteers of this refuge (the name of which Patricia did not know!), bumped down the track through the poppy fields, and headed off in convoy for the next refuge, back towards Cordoba.
Hidden behind a large warehouse full of pallets was a motley assortment of stables, dog cages and barns. This refuge is Villa del Rio, run by a Dutch lady, Cobie, passionate about horses as well as dogs. One magnificent palomino stallion took our eye – shut in a small enclosure under an olive tree, in a yard which desperately needed cleaning out – he was a stunning creature. We followed the owner into a compound in which galgos were again running free and through a locked door into a light airy building with dog pens along two sides, and a spotless concrete floor. We were shown 2 galgos saved from Operation Harry y Clavio, the remaining survivors of the debacle, the rest having been returned to their owners by the judge, who claimed the dogs had been stolen by the men who had been apprehended with them in their possession.
Half of the dogs in here were galgos, hence the locking of the door. Some of them were cringing away from us, hiding in their kennels in the shade, terrified of us – a terrible sight to see to behold for us dog lovers. It makes one wonder what happened to them that they should be so afraid of humans, but lucky that they are now in the relative safety and care of Cobie. Dawn sat on the concrete floor at the side of one of the runs, quiety waiting for one or both of the dogs there to come to her, one did in the end, but not the other. There were also half a dozen puppies which were born to a galga at the refuge and are desperately looking for forever home. On our way out up the drive beside the pallets we passed some small cages and small runs, in which were several vocal little dogs.
By now it late morning, we have another half dozen dogs in our cars, another refuge to visit to collect some more galgos, and a very long drive ahead of us back to an overnight stop at my home in France. Luckily Dawn is holding up very well, her headache has eased and she no longer feels sick – probably because she hasn’t had anything to eat! However, one thing which did not help her was the stink of dog poo in the car! One of the dogs had been to the toilet! It was then we realised that the dogs had been fed that morning! Note to remind Patricia that dogs should NOT be fed before setting off on a long car journey!
As we travelled back into the outskirts of Cordoba, we followed Patricia into the car park of a large shopping complex. We were a little confused as to why we were there, until we spotted two galgos, along with their handlers, in the cool of the canopy over the vehicle parking. The youngest galgo is 11 months old, and had been rescued as a puppy by the volunteer. The second galga, Bruma, had been rescued from the street at the end of the hunting season, severely emaciated, barely able to stand. With the love and care of the young volunteers, she had been restored to a healthy and confident dog, a tribute to their efforts over the 5 months she had been with them. They shed many tears as we loaded the 2 dogs into my car and followed Patricia to the last refuge, again buried deep in the countryside north of Cordoba.
This is a small refuge with just one block of kennels, holding upwards of 40 dogs. Alberto and his blind spaniel let us in through the compound gate where I squeezed the Volvo under the shade of a plum tree, to keep the dogs inside cool. As well as Alberto and Patricia, there was another young couple and I have to wonder why the young woman was there. Slim, long black hair, figure hugging bright pink leggings, junky jewellery, she sat on a stone, watching us all but contributing nothing. Inside the kennels, there was dog poo and urine, the water needed changing, feed bowls needed cleaning. Dawn and I both felt like giving her a good slap and sending her in to do some work!
More galgos were picked up here and loaded into our cars. Before opening the gates, Alberto was trying very hard to catch a terrified little brown dog – thrown over the fence the night before, he told us. The little chap was lucky not to have broken a leg. It’s a common occurrence, abandoning dogs at the gates of the refuges. This refuge had broken glass around the roof to try and prevent thieves breaking in to steal the galgos when hunting begins.
So, there we are, our tally of dogs for the day – 14. We said our thanks to the volunteers and Patricia, reminding her NOT to feed dogs before they are due to make a long car journey, put our right foot down on the accelerator and headed north for the residencia on the outskirts of Madrid where the dogs were to spend the night.
We met up at our hotel with Cristina de Luna, the volunteer working for the Perrikus refuge. It’s always interesting to chat to her, learn about the problems the volunteers and refuges all face, and get her thoughts on how to deal with the situation. I’ve been to the refuge before, it’s up in the hills above the town, in the direction of Burgos. This refuge is privately owned, the owners live there, so the galgos within are relatively safe from thieves. Cristina told us about a lady who recently adopted a dog from them and was so impressed with the work they do that she donated 5,000 euros to the refuge. A gift from heaven! With the help of some funds from L’Europe des Levriers, a separate compound with ‘dog houses’ has been built by Cristina’s wonderful husband, in which the galgos will stay. ‘Originally we set a limit of 30 dogs living at Perrikus’, she explained, ‘but the situation for the galgos is so bad that we now have 50 dogs.
What do you do when a galguerro turns up with his galgos, and tells you that if you do not take them, he will get rid of them himself.’
What I couldn’t believe was that they do not have a water supply at Perrikus. Imagine, having to cart all the water they need for humans and dogs up from the nearby village each day. They don’t have the money to construct a water tank in the ground, nor to install an above-ground tank, which would be easier. So I’m waiting on Cristina letting me know what they actually require, and we’ll see what we can do to help raise the funds to pay for an above-ground water tank. How do these amazing volunteers cope? If you want to make a donation, details on their website.
With all our dogs safely collected from the residencia the following morning, we set off for the border, France and, for Dawn and me, home and in our own beds that night! Bea made a couple of adoptions en route back in France, I dropped Dawn off at Jardiland Bordeaux where her partner picked her up for the short drive to their home, and I pointed my trusty Volvo carrying 3 galgos and a podenco in the direction of Niort.
Richard and Gerard arrived shortly after me, with an extra dog in their car. The three galgos they had transported from the first refuge were very nervous and timid, so had required special handling. Bea and the men had also collected a galga en route from Bordeaux, which had been rehomed last year by another association to a young couple, who had now had a baby and didn’t want the dog. When she was lifted from the car, I could hardly believe my eyes. She was a walking skeleton – if she had been in the UK it would have been a definite case of maltreatment and we would have ensured the couple were taken to court for cruelty. She could not possibly have been fed for weeks! I was so very very angry at such a wicked couple.
Bea, Jerome, and Ghislaine arrived, the dogs were all let out into the compound inside our big barn, to stretch their legs properly, have a feed and play, and a good sleep for the night before the final leg of their long journey the following day, to their various adoptant and foster homes.
Dawn professed herself ‘so pleased you invited me and I had an emotional, educational and enjoyable time which I felt was worthwhile too. It has given me lots to think about and I will go again. Already I have people putting by bedding etc for next trip’. She has posted her pix on Facebook. Here is the link.http://www.facebook.com/p.php?i=696453652&k=RYMX54P4PZVM5JDIQF2TUU
Myself, I have a foster dog, Carmela. She had been offered a forever home, but the people changed their minds, I don’t know why. She is beautifully marked, but very nervous, cringes when I go to put her harness on to walk her, afraid to approach her bowl of food until I walk away. It will take a lot of time and patience for her to gain her confidence again, and I am unsure whether moving her to yet another home will be in her best interests. But I DID promise my other half that I was not going to adopt her, only foster her, so we will have to take each day as it comes and see what happens.
I remain amazed at the wonderful work done by the volunteers at the refuges in Spain, by the teams of volunteers in France and elsewhere who work hard to rehome these beautiful galgos and podencos outside of Spain, where they are undeservingly treated like a piece of rubbish. The associations are continually carrying out rescues, Bea has been doing this for about 7 or 8 years – it is hard to imagine how she copes emotionally with the strain of the organising of rescues and rehoming and fostering and…………………..in the meantime battling to raise awareness of the problem through publicity on TV, radio and newspapers, presenting dossiers to MEPs, running petitions. She is just one association President doing this, there are dozens of other throughout Europe and Scandinavia doing the same.
I pay tribute to all these people, I could not do what they do, I just try and support and help them in my own way and I am happy to know that I too contribute to improving the life of some of these beautiful dogs, who suffer such a terrible life at the hands of the Spanish hunters, whether on mainland Spain or on the Spanish islands.
I curse you, galguerros, may you and your families suffer as you make the galgos and podencos suffer. I curse you all!