Surviving Prague

First, let me apologise for the lag time between posts… not that I’ve ever been very good at posting routinely but this time, my legitimate reason was a lack of a working laptop.  We’re now back in business so here’s hoping to catch everyone up!  Bear with me as it will take a couple posts to cover the last month.

After we left our lake spot in Germany towards the end of September, we made our way to the eastern part of the country where we spent two lovely days in the countryside at Toril’s Rocky Mountain Horse breeding farm.  This was a much needed break for both us and the dogs, who were finally able to run around off lead together in the safety of the fields there without us having to worry about bothering anyone.  I got a brief horse fix, as we were allowed to say hello to the herd (45 horses strong, with lots of babies).  One of our awesome followers reached out and got us in touch with her friend, who owns the farm.  We were, and continue to be, incredibly grateful when our followers reach out and help us find safe spots to stay, offer advice on visiting their home towns or cities, or send us information about local resources (like vets).  It always warms our hearts that so many people follow our journey and stay involved as we wander our way through Europe!

We initially intended to spend a bit of time with Toril, enjoying the horses and helping around the farm, before making our way to Prague.  Unfortunately, Travis received a phone call on our second night that his grandfather had reentered the hospital.  Of course, he needed to return to the States as soon as possible, and was lucky to find a flight out of Prague less the 48 hours later.  He wanted me to stay on the farm with the dogs, as it would be easier for me to handle them all alone there.  However, the drive to and from Prague was daunting for me, along with the knowledge that we would be wasting a great deal of fuel going back and forth.  I opted to find a real campsite in the city where I could stay safely while he was away.  It would be our first time staying at a campsite, ever, and my first time dealing with nine dogs on my own in a city environment.  To say I was intimidated is an understatement, but despite Travis’s worries for me, I stuck to that plan.

The campsite couldn’t have proven to be more perfectly located.  It was on a little peninsula on the river right dead in the middle of the city.  There were free showers with my stay, and they accepted (and charged me for) all nine dogs.  Despite that, the cost was reasonable; I paid around $197 for five nights with our caravan, myself and the nine dogs.  

We parked towards the back of the site, as far away from the other campers as the little space allowed.  That did put us next to the dumping area for waste, which proved to be a bit of a nuisance.  Not because of the smell, surprisingly, there wasn’t any; but because every day three or four campers would pull up next to us to do their thing and that sent the dogs into a frenzy of barking, howling, and other loud and annoying behaviours.  No one seemed to mind though, and in fact, I had to come flying out of the caravan multiple times to save some oddly brave campers from attempting to pet the mastiffs who were tied outside.  As a dog person, I understand that my big fluffy dogs resemble teddy bears, but I’m continually fascinated by how many people seem to think that their snarling, leaping, obviously aggressive behaviour isnearly  actually them pleading for pets.  In case anyone is wondering, its not.  They truly do want to eat you and those massive snapping jaws are as mean and sharp as they look.  One couple stood just out of their reach for nearly 15 minutes, cooing and making what I suppose they thought were sweet faces while I clung desperately to their leads trying to avoid their teeth myself and tried to make this very lovely but completely non-english speaking couple understand that the dogs were NOT friendly.

It rained a lot while I was in Prague, and by that I mean every single day, all day, except one.  By the second evening, I had developed a routine that ensured all the dogs were happy and I was continuously exhausted.  Wake up was 0700, with puppies going for their walk first.  We walked a minimum of an hour, rain or shine, back and forth along the peninsula.  When we got back, I fed all the dogs, then took the Shepherds and Wasi for their own hour long walk.  Finally, I would get those seven settled down for the morning, sweep out the caravan, empty the litter box, wipe the counters down, tie up the trash bag and take the mastiffs off for their much shorter walk to the trash bins.  More then once I was stopped by other campers who waved their hands at Nibble’s soaking wet coat and asked why I didn’t let her inside with the others.  I had to explain that Nibble tolerates about five minutes at a time in the caravan before she starts tearing things apart in her attempts to get out.  If its raining, make that two minutes.  I spent half my time there trying to coax her inside out of the rain because I could feel the judgement of the other campers as she sat out in the rain, to no avail.  She’s never happier then when she’s dug herself a muddy hole to lounge in while the rain pours down.  I’ve long ago learned to just accept her quirks and let go of the guilt and eventually I shrugged off the questions and let her get on with it.

Friday of that week dawned bright and clear for a change, and I had worked up the nerve to enter the city and play tourist for a few hours.  It took me 30 minutes to finally sneak away from the caravan satisfied that the dogs were sleeping soundly.  For those looking for advice on how to travel with (many) dogs and be able to leave them safely and quietly for tourist stops, I highly recommend mandatory nap times.  Every day, from ten to three, our dogs sleep.  Even if we are somewhere they could be out playing, during those hours, its nap time.  The reason is because those are the hours during which we do our driving or sightseeing.  By creating a routine that requires sleeping during those hours, regardless of what we are doing that day, we have conditioned the dogs.  Thus, when we are on the road, they aren’t restless while we drive.  Or when we want to leave them for a couple hours to see the sights, we know they will sleep quietly and not disturb people with barking.  A set, unbreakable routine is the key to happy dogs even when you’re living a “normal” life, but its a critical part of how we keep them content, safe, and satisfied with life even when their surroundings are changing day to day.  Routine creates easily adjustable dogs!

Not seeing Prague was one of my biggest regrets last year, so this year I was determined to do it right.  The Astrological Clock was my main goal.  I managed to navigate the metro into the city without any issues, and Wasi and I took our time meandering through the cobblestone streets, taking photos and following brown signs for local sights.  I had entered the city around eleven, and it wasn’t overly busy when we started out.  But as I mentioned, this was the first sunny day that week, and it was obvious the tourists were planning to take full advantage.  Within an hour, the streets were packed and I was fighting off a panic attack.  I debated just abandoning my plans, but my pride kicked in and I convinced myself that at the very least, I would see that damn clock.  I made my way to the square and tried not to faint when I saw the crowds.  Purely by chance, I had stumbled onto the clock right as it was preparing to strike one, and people were everywhere with their phones raised, taking pictures and videos.  I managed to find some standing room and did the same, while Wasi made continuous circles around me, attempting to keep people from invading my space.  At 1301 precisely, I fled.  I had managed just over two hours, but I was at the end of my rope; it was time to get back to the caravan.  

It took me another hour and a half to navigate my way back to the campsite.  I got lost three times on the metro and spent an hour wandering blindly looking for the ferry I knew would take me back.  My phone died and I lost even the ability to search for routes, and at one point, I sat down on a wall and sobbed while Wasi tried everything in his power to comfort me.  Eventually I managed to stumbled onto a dock and ask a police officer about the ferry.  A few minutes later I was on board heading towards “home.”  I must have looked as stressed and drained as I felt, because when I tried to pay the captain, he waved his hand, patted my shoulder and told me to have a better night.  There’s nothing more calming then someone’s kindess, and by the time I walked back to the caravan, I was breathing again.  The overly happy greeting from the dogs helped push the worst of the panic back, and by the time I had them all walked, fed, pottied, and resettled, I could look back on the day glad I’d pushed through.

Saturday I spent mostly reading and recovering, but when Sunday dawned with blue skies, I considered the possibility of visiting the castle, which was very close and wouldn’t require entering the greater city or using the metro.  I was still debating when I ducked my head through my little door to climb on the bed, when Zima, who’d been sniffing around in front of me, raised her head at the exact moment I was ducking mine.  Her head slammed into my chin, and my front teeth sliced straight through my lip.  Blood started pouring out and I scrambled towards the window, holding my lip and cursing.  As I searched frantically in the cabinets overhead for baby wipes to stem the bleeding, Wasi and Dobbie jumped on the bed for a romp.  They were coming towards me full blast and I flung my right arm out to ward them off.  My timing, once again, was perfect.  I flung my wrist directly into Wasi’s mouth, seconds before he chomped down on Dobbie’s tail.  The pain was agonizing.  Wasi released me immediately and scrambled to the other side of the bed, clearly shocked and confused as to when and why Dobbie had turned into me.  

I was rolling in agony, my bleeding lip forgotten.  Wasi had closed his mouth with full force on my wrist and three major punctures were the result.  I’m not naturally queasy, but one look at the deep cuts and my stomach turned and my eyes glazed over.  I managed to find baby wipes and laid there gasping with the wounds covered.  After 15 minutes or so, I was able to sit up, clean the wounds out with wipes from the first aid kit, and wrap my wrist.  I was afraid to do anything else, and my hand was completely useless.  The next 56 hours were a nightmare.  Walking the dogs was no longer possible with the use of only one arm.  Advil wasn’t close to enough to numb the pain, and even lifting empty feed bowls had me whimpering and kneeling until the lightheadness passed.  The dogs were miserable and bored, I was in agony, and Travis wasn’t due back until the next morning.  Normally, I would never consider going to a doctor for a dog bite, but this time, I wondered if it was going to be necessary.

I managed to make it through that day and night through sheer determination.  I took the dogs to potty one by one right there at the campsite, fed one handed, filled waters using my knees to support the water jug, and popped Advil like candies.  I kept reminding myself that Travis would be back soon and then I could see a doctor and he could help with the dogs.  Monday took forever to come; I couldn’t sleep through the pain, the dogs were running around the caravan playing and I was stuck eating pretzels because I couldn’t make anything else.  Then I got a text from Travis that his flight from New Jersey had been delayed and made him miss his connection in Switzerland.  He wouldn’t be back until Tuesday.  I cried and cried and cursed the world, the dogs, myself and wondered how we’d all survive another day.  It was one of the hardest moments I’ve ever had travelling.  Sensing my distress, Zima climbed into my lap and snuggled close.  She was followed by Dobbie, then Wasi, Slade, then Nefsi, Syn, then Balkan, Lager, then Moscato.  They laid there with me, paws on my legs, heads on my shoulders, noses pressed to my face while I sobbed.  And despite my upset, I started to smile.  Its impossible to continue to feel hopeless when there’s all that fur around you preventing you from drawing a full breath, wanting to comfort you with sloppy kisses, and smacking you in the face with wagging tails.

We survived that day, the sleepless night that followed, and Tuesday morning until Travis finally made it back.  His travel experience over the last two days had been as rough as mine with missed flights, continual delays, and lost baggage.  He greeted me with mini crumb cakes and goldfish and took the dogs out for a proper walk.  We spent a final night there, letting Travis recover before setting out for Slovakia. 

Prague was beautiful, and seeing the clock was worth it, but I sincerely hope thats the last time I feel like I have actually survived a city!

A Rough Start: RIP Jäger

It’s been a very rough first week, definitely not going to go down as a highlight of our travels.  After crossing into France, we continued on to Belgium where we stopped for the night.  We were tired and sad and not really feeling particularly excited about anything.  The dogs were restless and confused and the cats just plain pissed off about not being allowed out of the caravan.  No one slept well and obviously the puppies adventures the next day didn’t really improve anyone’s spirits.

I spent a lot of the afternoon trying to decide where to go next, as while last year truck stops were a godsend, this year they will prove more challenging for more then one night at a time because we just have so many damn dogs.  We were already down to our last bit of funds, and we needed someplace we could park up and sit tight until the end of the month, when I will get paid and we can make our way to Hungary as planned.  

This time I used an app called iOverlander, where people can pinpoint all sorts of camping spots, from major sites to fields along the side of the road for wild camping.  We had some great luck with this app last year, and some not so great luck (one memorable night I used the app to direct us down a one lane dirt road, across a bridge, and into a gate that clearly went no where.  Turning around was a major issue, and it was past midnight and we were tired and grouchy, not to mention had two guests with us so there was a lot more grouchy to go around.  We had to open the gate for Travis to back up and manoeuvre our way out of there, and we forgot to close it again after all the drama…. To this day we feel guilty and often will bring it up as a prime example of why I am the world’s worst navigator).  After some searching along our general route south, I lucked out on a wild camping spot called “parking lot with a great view.”  The picture looked good and the write up encouraging so we decided to make for it the next day.

That night, I noticed that Jäger wasn’t his usual cheerful self.  He looked lethargic and a little ragged and just didn’t seem as interested in things as he normally would.  Travis took a look and we debated about whether or not a vet would be open nearby at that hour.  We decided to see if he was still eating (always hard to tell if one individual cat is when there are so many), so took him in to the car and offered him wet food, which he happily ate.  He had a snuggle and a purr with Travis, then curled up at the foot of the passenger seat and went to sleep.  Aside from the lethargy, there was no sign of anything being wrong, it was only that we know him so well that we noticed he wasn’t his normal self, and I almost wondered if he was just depressed a bit from being stuck inside the caravan.  We decided we’d take him to a vet in the morning if he still seemed off.  

Two hours later, Travis went to give him a pet, and found him cold to the touch… he was gone.  To say we were shocked is an understatement…. We’re still struggling to understand what signs we missed that indicated anything that would have taken his life so quickly.  He was only a little over a year old and had always been in perfect health.  He’d showed no signs of coughing, sneezing, nor was he running a temperature and his eyes and gums had all looked good (of course I checked those things when I first noticed he was so unusually quiet).  He was eating and drinking and we are at a loss to explain how he could have slipped away from us that way.  The suddenness of it all has left us reeling, and until today, I haven’t even been able to contemplate sharing the news. 

Jäger was, as Travis put it yesterday, the life of the party.  Not only was he a constant companion to us whatever we were doing, but he was Uncle Jäger to the puppies, he even won over Moomkin, and was Kamikaze’s best friend.  I honestly don’t know who is more lost without him, us or the animals, and it seems like we’ve all spent the last week moving through a fog, unable to understand such a sudden loss of our precious Jäger.  There aren’t any words that I can write to capture our profound grief, so I will just leave it at this: we miss him, every second of every day.  And we feel lucky that we got to have the time we did with him, even if it was far, far too brief.

We woke up the next morning in a daze and barely speaking, and set off for the camping site in Germany.  When we got there, it seemed a little bit like fate.  The day after we lost our bunny Sami last year, we ended up at a beautiful lake on the German-Austrian border, where we laid her to rest.  Jäger had been Sami’s favourite, and as I approached the lake for the first time, I knew this was where we would lay our baby to rest this year as well; a fitting place of beauty as perfect as he had been.

The rest of the week has gone by without us taking much notice.  We wake up in the mornings and walk the dogs before settling them down for the rest of the day while the park gets busy and people and other dogs come through.  In the late afternoon, we leash everyone up for our long walk and take them down the mountainside to the lake where, one by one, we let them have a swim or play along the water’s edge.  

The first day there were some ducks in the water fairly close, and Dobbie, having never seen a body of water in his life, lept after them without pausing and took one hell of a dunking… I’ve never seen anything as funny as his shocked face when he surfaced and paddled over to dry land.  None of the puppies seems overly excited about the prospect of swimming, though Balkan could spend hours splashing the shallows and trying to catch the splashes in his mouth.  Nibble, when we take her along with us (her old joints can’t take the strain of that walk every single day), submerges herself in the lake and floats along like a big fluffy otter.  Wasi, who I convinced to join me for a sort of swim on day two, hasn’t forgiven the water since and he only takes a drink after tip toeing to the edge, lowering his body all the way to the ground, and stick his tongue out as far as it will go for a lick before backing up hurriedly as if the water is going to leap up and swallow him whole.  He’s a bit of a drama queen for sure.  Syn and Nefsi both love a swim along the shallows, and Moomkin remains aloof from it all, though we have learned that he likes to watch Travis skip rocks across the lake and will even have a little chase to the edge before watching it disappear.  All in all, they are happy and content, even if having to stay on leashes all the time is hard for everyone.

Travis takes the five adults and I walk the four puppies, in theory because I can train them to walk properly.  To give them credit, they are not horrible for dogs that have had little to know leash training, and with the assistance of haltis on all but the mastiffs, everyone walks without dragging us all over the place.  Slade is definitely the best puppy, he accepts the halti without complaint and walks in a perfect heel though I have no idea where he learned that from.  Zima and Dobbie tolerate the haltis, having figured out that there’s no leaving the caravan without them so they mean walks and playtime even if they are annoying.  Balkan, however, seems to be taking lessons from Wasi, who despite working in a halti almost every day of his life still has to have a battle with it for forms sake when we set off.  Balkan can alternate between walking perfectly or throwing himself on the floor and fighting his face harness with gusto.  It’s hard not to laugh even if it does mean a tangled mess of leashes and dogs and prolongs an already somewhat long and difficult walk.

The cats have given us a run for our money a couple times as well. It’s warmer here then we’d hoped for this time of year and that means windows open in order to breathe at night. Except I’m horrible at remembering to close the damn thing before I take the dogs for their morning walk. On two occasions we’ve come back to cats having escaped and wandering around our parking lot. Once they did this at night, and I spent twenty minutes running around the gravelled lot in bare feet, whispering their names and hissing like a snake trying to get them to come to me without waking up the other campers nearby. I’m sure I looked ridiculous and though Mead came rushing up without hesitation, Moscato had made his way a little ways off and had to scream bloody murder the way he does until I put him safely back inside. If anyone was awake they must have thought I was torturing the stupid animal rather then saving his sorry ass from himself. Kamikaze, of course, being female and ornery, thought the whole thing was game and I tracked her collar bell and glowing eyes up and down the lot, into the trees and back again before threatening to let her be eaten by whatever wild animals roam these parts. That seemed to do the trick, or she just got bored, because she let me pick her up and deposit her back inside while I grumbled about how stupid it is to travel with cats.

I was good about the windows for a few days and then Zima had an accident in the caravan which made me forget yesterday. Came back to Moscato screaming for rescue, again (I don’t know why he goes exploring when he obviously hates it), and the worst possible scenario, Lager missing. Now Lager loves to wander, far and wide, and can often disappear for days at a time back home. While we still had a week planned here, the thought of having to worry about him for any length of time stressed me out and I spent a solid chunk of time calling for him and cursing the fact that I have no memory for important things like closing windows. Travis was too annoyed with me (and obviously worried as well) to join the search and dealt with the dogs instead. Eventually I had to give up, it was too busy and other dogs were everywhere and the chances of Lager willingly emerging into all that were slim. I figured he’d show back up for dinner later and tried to get some rest in the by-then uncomfortable heat. A few hours later I happened to hear the sound of a man whistling for his dog to recall, and I recognised the dog as an older one I’d seen walk by earlier. I wondered if he’d spotted our wayward Lager since he didn’t seem the type to run off, and I rushed down the path for the man to confirm his dog had just chased a black cat into the trees. At least I knew he was around. It took another two hours of waiting, but eventually I heard what I’d been waiting for, the sound of Lager’s pissed off meow in response to my calling his name. I fought my way through trees and bramble and, of course, more thorns, to where he was laying, glaring at me like I was the one who had lifted him bodily out of the caravan and thrown him in to the wild. He clung to me on the walk back, eventually purring with pleasure at my company while I lectured him on the dangers of wandering off in places he doesn’t know. I’d say he heeded my words but I caught him pawing at a window early this morning trying to go out on another adventure so clearly I wasted my breath.

At this point we’re both just trying to hang on till next week when we can make our way to Hungary and our friend, Mark, who we are desperately excited to see. Ideally, there won’t be any more drama, but the likelihood of that is small so stay tuned!

Let the Adventures Begin Again

I thought our first blog of the trip was going to be super boring, a rant about how unhappy we are to have left home and how difficult it is to adjust to meaningless wandering with no schedule again. I should have known better. With nine dogs to keep things interesting, including four very naughty puppies, how could our first day be anything but an adventure?

Today’s adventure took place in Belgium, at a rest stop near Brussels. Using our trusty European Truck Stop app, Travis was able to find a place that had multiple reviews stating an open gate that would lead to a big free area where we could run the dogs off leash for a few hours. As usual, the information was reliable and the dogs spent a happy twenty minutes or so running around and doing their business while Trav caught up with his girlfriend Georgia and I moped around feeling irritable. Eventually, we figured it was time for feeding, since we’d been on the road all morning and had made everyone skip breakfast since it was too busy at the truck stop we spent the night at to safely have all the dogs out at once. Everyone seemed calm, the area seemed secure, so Trav went back to the caravan to get feeds and I stayed to watch the hooligans.

Within minutes, Zima, typically, decided to lead her brothers on a scouting expedition through the wooded areas surrounding our clearing. I followed at first, calling half heartedly to them and glancing back now and again to be sure the older dogs were with me. After getting caught in a couple of pricker bushes, I stopped and realised that Nibble had remained where she was at the gate, intently watching for Travis’s return. Nervous about leaving her where I couldn’t see her when the general public could wander in at any time, I backtracked, reasoning that the puppies wouldn’t get far by the time Travis returned with food, and hungry as they were bound to be, they’d return quickly at the sound of a shaken food bowl… this method worked at home when they wandered out of eyesight after all.

I confidently shook a food bowl and called for Zima and Dobbie a few times, then waited without concern to see the four of them flying towards me, eager for their late breakfast. After a minute or two, I took a few steps towards where I’d last seen their white tipped tails and shook the bowl a little more ferociously, adding in Slade and Balkan’s names and a slightly panicked “PUPPIES,” which we’d used to round them up their entire lives. The adults chowed down while I walked deeper into the woods, and the thorny branches now springing up everywhere. I tried to remind myself that there wasn’t really anywhere for them to get off too, and that they had probably just wandered slightly out of hearing. Travis went in the opposite direction while I started shaking the food bowl constantly and we both called, increasingly desperate and irritated, for our brats. Three or four minutes later, we regrouped where the older dogs had finished eating and agreed that he would take them back to the caravan, change into pants to protect himself from the thorns, while I headed out into the cornfields just behind the woods. Travis’s annoyance was plain, he hadn’t wanted to let them all off at once anyways, and I was trying to cover my concern with a airy comment about how they’d surely be back as soon as we went looking for them properly.

I followed the trail the puppies had created in the tall grass until I reached the cornfield. There was no sign of them anywhere, and only the rustling of the cornstalks breaking up a rather deafening silence. Even the sounds of the nearby highways were muffled in all that corn, and I wished I’d brought Wasi along to keep me company. I wandered back and forth for a few minutes, trying to make a game out of my panic by pretending I was a tracker of old. I scanned the ground for paw prints, confident that four still clumsy puppies would have left an easily followable trail in the deep, impressionable dirt. It took me a few minutes, but I did eventually stumble on a paw print that clearly belonged to a Slade or Balkan. Success, I thought, check me out, tracker extraordinaire! It bothered me a little that there was only one clear print, and none of the jumble of tracks you’d expect from four dogs running together. But I followed the prints I could see every few feet, shaking that food bowl, confident I would stumble onto them at any minute.

Twenty minutes later, with scratches covering every body part, and an itch spreading across my legs and arms from god knows what was on all those thorns and stickers, I broke free of the corn field to a clear walking path. A field of cows were to my right, with an open meadow to my left before it turned in to what appeared to be a Christmas tree farm. The paw prints I’d been following were long gone and after so long struggling along the edge of the cornfield, I was able to orient myself only because the highway was now directly in front of me. The puppies were no where to be seen. I struggled to hold back tears and to silence the berating voice in my head that was reminding me that if they were gone, it was my fault. I spotted our truck stop back to my right and after a few more shakes of the bowl and desperate calls of “PUPPIES,” I headed back. I was trying to reassure myself that they were all microchipped, all had dog tags with Travis’s phone number and our social media tag line, hell they even still had their haltis on so someone would pick them up and get in touch. We’d planned to spend the night there anyways so surely they’d either be found or wander back in at some point in the next few hours.

I braced myself to walk back into the thorns edging the cornfield, wondering if this rest stop had a shower because I was going to need one to wash off all the sweat and whatever poison those prickers had got me with. I could feel blood dripping from the scratches on my legs and sighed at the thought of a pair of my favourite pants gone. It’s crazy what you think about in a crisis isn’t it? About 100 yards along the field, I ran across the start of fencing the truck stop was on the other side of. I glanced up at some trash cans and saw a flash of white… Zima and all three of her brothers were happily digging through what they could reach on the ground. She must have smelled me, because before I could say anything, she looked over and let out a happy bark. All four of them bounced over to the fence line, tails wagging, clearly pleased with themselves and not the least bit stressed from their adventures. They were lucky a fence was between us, because I was torn between overwhelming relief and a very strong desire to beat the lot of them. In the end I just stared for a minute while I took ten deep breaths before shaking the bowl again so they’d follow me and starting along the fence line towards the gate. I had to come off the fence for a while to fight my way back through to the clearing, and I ran into Travis, who promptly jumped over the barbed wire surrounding the corn and went off to round them up. It took me another three or four minutes to fight through the thorns and stickers, and, helpful bitch (literally and figuratively) that she is, Zima reappeared a minute or so in to lead me out… easy for her to do since she could duck under the majority of what was holding me back.

If you’re wondering, there’s no point in scolding them since they had, after all, returned. So we fed them, made a lot of comments to each other about how they’re never coming off their leashes ever again, took stock of our injuries and took them back to the caravan for water and their crate. Exhausted, mentally and physically form the ordeal, I sat down on the sidewalk and was promptly surrounded by happy, not the least bit apologetic puppies. Zima climbed in my lap for a snuggle and I started to laugh… while we definitely will not be repeating this experience (I hope), at least it had forced me to think about something other then missing home. You can always count on the Travelling Menagerie for an adventure!

Travis’s Return

Travis is back!  And he brought so many American goodies back with him that I’m not sure what to eat or wear first!!  I was so excited to see him that I actually gave him a real hug when he got here (I generally avoid touching people, even family, at all costs).  The dogs were so thrilled that they practically climbed out the car windows trying to get to him, it was super adorable.

The drive home was less adorable.  Remember how I wrote about how restless the dogs tend to be in the car?  Well, now we had an extra person and three bags of luggage to fit into the space they already deemed not sufficient.  I ended up with Kova at my feet and a Raj who refused to lay down on my lap.  Travis and I spent as much of the ride back shouting at dogs to “just lay down!” as we did talking and catching up on what went on over the last two weeks… there was a lot more to catch up on then I expected.

When we made it back to the ranch, the first order of business (after letting the dogs out to burn off some energy) was to go through the luggage for all the stuff the family sent back for us!  The food items are in the photo, and as you can imagine, I’m in heaven.  I very, very, very rarely get homesick for the States, but I regularly crave the food.  In England, I had access to the military base and could get most of the stuff I needed to keep me sane, but out on the road the struggle is real!  I ended up going for the goldfish first, of course, followed by a mini crumb cake.  I’m contemplating the bag of Fritos right now.

The family also sent our Christmas gifts, which aside from food, consisted of a lot of extra warm socks for me (which I asked for since I’ve been wearing three pairs and slippers at a time and still have frozen feet).  I also got long johns and a sweater, also desperately needed as we face the fact that we have to move on soon and it’ll be back to living out of the caravan with no heat.  But the very best present came from my aunt Eileen and is a hooded Snuggie that I am already snuggled up in and wondering if life could get any better.  This is the warmest I have been in two weeks and I am loving it!

Speaking of, Travis lit the fire when he got back, and guess what?  The reason I have struggled with keeping the fire lit is that the wood is really wet.  So it turns out that I am not actually a complete failure at this fire business, the wood was just working against me!  This little tidbit made my entire day, let me tell you, there’s nothing better then finding out you aren’t a total idiot to really round off two weeks on your own!

Being Sick Alone

I don’t have much to share today, because I haven’t done anything at all in the last few days.  After about more then two months off of Zoloft, I was finally able to get a refill on my prescription here in BiH.  That was a fascinating experience after living in the US and UK my entire life.  I literally just walked in with the bottles in my hand, asked the pharmacist if I could get pills there or needed to see a doctor, and walked out 5 mins later with the medications.  It cost me 22 Bosnian marks, which is probably around $9, to fill three prescriptions.  Can you imagine walking in to a pharmacy back home and getting controlled medications just with old pills bottles?  I’m not complaining, it was one of the highlight moments of the trip for me!

I started taking the Zoloft again immediately, because as Travis will tell you, me off happy pills isn’t really the best version of me… and with everything that’s happened over the last few months, I haven’t really been coping very well since I’ve been so unstable.  I can already feel the positive effects of being on the Zoloft again: my mind is quieter and my emotions aren’t swinging to drastically from high to low throughout the day.  In a few weeks time, I should be able to think clearly again, which would be a nice change from walking around feeling like my brain is a fog of emotions and bad memories that I can’t ever fight off.

Unfortunately, there’s a downside to starting this particular medication again that I forgot: it makes me really, really ill for the first two weeks or so.  So for the last few days, I’ve been huddled up inside, trying to keep food down while my stomach rejects it all adamantly.  Anyone who knows me knows I am a truly miserable sick person, and its considerably worse when I’m alone with no one to baby me.  My mood has been nothing short of vile.  Plus, I feel guilty for not doing my volunteer chores, even though the bosses have been nothing but understanding.  And to top it all off, we had guests this weekend for the first time since we’ve been at the ranch, and I had been looking forward to meeting them and getting to ride in a group with the bosses.  Instead I did my best to avoid everyone because I didn’t want to risk vomiting at an impromptu moment, or being unintentionally rude because I’m feeling so put out with own self at the moment.

I know that in the long run, its worth it to suffer through these side effects to have a better version of myself back again.  But man does it suck big time for the time being.  Today I felt slightly less nauseous, so here’s hoping that tomorrow I can at least clean some stalls to get out of the cabin for longer then a dog walk!  Sorry to be so boring everyone, but Travis will be back soon and the real travel adventures will start again as we head for our next country!

LOOKING BACK: The Shetland and Orkney Islands

Warning: Longer Post

I realised a few days after Travis left that I hadn’t been entirely truthful when I said this is the first time that I’ve been alone in who knows how many years.  Actually, I was surprised at myself for having forgotten the most recent time that I was completely and totally on my own, considering that those two weeks last year were actually the catalyst of this very trip.  So I think it might be a good time to remind myself that I actually have survived on my own before, while traveling, and having faced quite a few unexpected obstacles.

In August 2017, I was very much in denial about the pending end of my marriage.  For nearly six months, I had been steadfastly refusing to acknowledge that I was on the verge of losing the man I loved and a life I desperately wanted.  I’d been doing everything in my power to turn the tide towards reconciliation, including throwing myself whole heartedly in to a marriage renewal program I found online (Side note: While this program would ultimately fail to save my own marriage, I actually found it to be incredibly helpful and enlightening… it changed the entire way I think about marriage and long term relationships, and I would recommend it to any couple whether their relationship is in trouble or not.  In many ways, Marriage Fiteess by Mort Fertel taught me how to love, and I consider that one of the silver linings of having to get divorced, even if it came too late:

During this time, my husband had made a trip back to the States for family reasons, and as his return neared, I began to realise that I literally couldn’t face him.  I needed some time and some space from the situation to come to terms with what was happening, so I packed my bags one day, loaded Nefsi, Moomkin and Nibble in to my Subaru and hit the road.  I had absolutely no game place other than to drive “north” which I did aimlessly over the next couple days.  Eventually I found myself in Aberdeen, on the coast of Scotland.  I happened to drive by the ferry dock, and out of curiosity, stopped to see just where the ferries were headed.  Fifteen minutes later I walked out with a ticket to the Shetland Islands, which I had heard of only with reference to the Shetland pony and whose actual geographic location was a mystery to me.

You can probably imagine my shock when I boarded the ferry and learned that it was an eight hour, overnight trip to the Shetland Islands.  I hadn’t actually paid the least bit of attention when booking, and I assumed we were headed on a short trip to an island off the coast.  So ending up in a subarctic archipelago of over 100 islands was a surprise to say the least.  It turned out to be one of the most pleasant surprises of my life.

The Shetland Islands are not a hot spot tourist destination, which means that while people are definitely missing out, the islands remain a wonderfully pristine, almost untouched landscape.  There are pieces of Neolithic and Viking history dotting all of the islands, rarely preserved and almost never identified on any map or by sign.  The dogs and I spent a week wandering from island to island, stumbling over ruins that seemed to spring up out of the blue as we walked.  I walked through Viking places of worship, sat on beaches holding tools once used by ancient civilisations, and took in views that I could only have imagined in my dreams.  We slept in the car, sometimes at campsites, sometimes just where ever I could find.  The people were wonderful, the history fascinating, and the quiet and solitude, and absolute complete lack of phone service or wifi brought some much needed peace to my fried emotions.

At the end of my week in Shetland, I was taking a final drive up to the lighthouse on the south of the main island when I had a tyre blow out.  It was a Sunday, and thankfully, I was close enough to a major town to be able to reach an emergency car service… on the Scottish mainland.  It took a few hours and a great deal of begging, but eventually a local tow company agreed to bring me back in to Limerick, the main settlement and let me sleep at the garage until morning. First thing Monday, they gave me the bad news that they didn’t have the size tyres my Subaru Forester needed, and that it could take weeks to have the correct one shipped to them.  My best bet was to head for the Orkney Islands, which was more settled and should have a better selection.

So I booked another ferry ticket, this time for only a four hour journey south.  Unfortunately, the seas were not so calm for this trip, and the stress headache I had been nursing because of worry over the flat tyre turned in to a full blown, vicious migraine.  I hadn’t booked a cabin, and instead was sitting in the regular seating area where, about 30 minutes in to the roller coaster ride, I passed out.  I came around when Nefsi, who was traveling above deck with me (the mastiffs stayed in the car in the cargo hold), woke me with frantic licking.  At his insistence, I was able to gain my feet, bracing myself on him.  Of his own accord, he dragged me to mid ship, where he sought the first person he saw and whined adamantly to bring their attention to me slumped against the wall, blinded from the migraine.  A few hours later, when the ship captain came personally to wake me up and check that I had survived the rest of the journey, he told me that watching Nefsi work had been one of the most incredible things he and his crew had ever seen.  He was even more amazed when I informed him that Nefsi was not trained to brace, respond to migraines, or seek help from strangers…  but he wasn’t any more shocked then I was, who despite years with Nefsi at my side, couldn’t believe that he had known how to handle my sudden collapse and following blindness.  Once again, my dog had become what I needed without any training or guidance… my very own miracle.

When we arrived on the main Orkney Island, I was directed to the best mechanic in town, who was pleased to inform me that the had the size tyres I needed in stock.  A few moments later, we were both staring in dismay as not one, but two bolts snapped as we tried to remove them to change out the donut tyre.  Even worse, they did not have the right bolts available, and we would need to order them from the mainland; it would take a week for them to arrive.  I was still feeling sick from the ferry, and now I was frustrated and near desperation.  I was sleeping out of my car, unable to get home, alone with my dogs, and now I was facing the prospect of spending an entire week parked at a garage because the roads on the islands were no place to be driving on a donut.

Before I could even decide what I was going to spend the next week doing, the mechanic shocked me by motioning me over to a van parked just behind my own car.  It was his, and he didn’t need it for the week.  Would I like to take it while we waited on my bolts so that I could explore the islands and wouldn’t have to sleep at the garage?  The back seats were already out, so it would house the dogs nicely and I would easily be able to sleep in the back as I had been doing in the Suby.  I was shocked.  He was offering a perfect stranger his van so my trip wouldn’t be interrupted by my car troubles.  I gratefully accepted, marvelling at the kindness of people.

The van had no power steering, and anyone that knows me and my driving knows that made for a very funny breaking in period.  Reversing was especially challenging to start, and I spent most of the first day being passed on one lane roads by local drivers probably wondering why their friend’s van was struggling to make turns or go faster then 30 miles an hour.  But I did get the hang of it eventually, and the week that followed was truly spectacular.

The Orkney Islands are like a much more inhabited Shetland Islands, with the most notable difference being in how well preserved their historical sites are.  While it was possible to chance upon some old ruins here or there, more often then not, signs, visitor centres, and guide books were available to guide you around.  I stayed on the main island so that I would be close if my own car was unexpectedly finished, but there was plenty to see.  I bought a book that had a map in the back with each of the main sites marked and numbered.  I spent the week driving around the “Heart of Neolithic Orkney,” a UNESCO World Heritage Site, exploring Skara Brae, walking around the Standing Stones of Stenness and the Ring of Brodgar.  One of my favourite experiences was laying on a skateboard and pulleying myself in to the chambered tomb of Maes Howe.  I didn’t neglect some of the more “recent” history (and how amazing is it that 15th/16th/17th century ruins are recent there), taking time to see St. Magnus’ Cathedal, the Bishop’s Palace, the Earl’s Palace, and Skaill House.  In all, I managed to visit over half of the 40 sites on my map over the course of the week.

To this day, the Shetland and Orkney Islands are my favourite places that I’ve travelled to.  Spending two weeks exploring the civilisations and ruins that are older then the pyramids was mind boggling and truly humbling.  It was impossible not to reflect on my own situation in life and see it “in the big scheme of things.”  When I returned to England, and the man who no longer wanted me, I finally had begun to accept that the life I had dreamed of wasn’t coming true.  And the idea of travelling with my dogs as a path towards healing had taken root in my brain.  When my life finally finished imploding all the way a little over a year later, that idea seemed to bloom and grow until it couldn’t be ignored any longer.  And so, here I am, having last year visited the northernmost church in Britain, and now having taken in a service in BiH.  How far I have come, in more ways then one!