Notes from a not-so-small Island

Here I am at Heathrow Terminal 5 waiting for my flight back to Boston -- delayed 45 minutes. I've managed to find one of maybe half a dozen places here to recharge my phone and computer. And, here's the good news, British Airways has got off its elitist high horse and allowed us to get access to the Heathrow free wireless. Previously, there was wireless here but "only for club and first class, Sir"

So, what's changed here, especially in light of Brexit? Surprisingly, not a lot. Still the same great food and beer. Still the same excellent road system. What's really a pleasant surprise is that "Team GB" is now in third place in the medals table at the Olympics. Normally, we languish at about 10th place, if we're lucky. Even my rental car was a treat (well done, Hertz). Although they tried every trick in the book to make me pay more than the basic cost of the rental. He could upgrade me to "a very nice Mercedes... just a small increase in the rate." What about SatNav (GPS)? (turned out it was in the car already so I'm certainly glad I didn't opt for that). And then, of course all the CDW nonsense. Finally (and he tried each of these at least twice), was prepaying fuel. I was tempted because their rate was L1.03 per litre (I ended up paying L1.23). But of course I knew that anything that he was so keen to sell me must be bad for me. And of course it was. Even though I must have driven about 400 km all told, the efficiency of the (diesel) car was so good that I had used barely a quarter of the tank. So, prepaying for fuel, even at the good price, would have cost something like L70 instead of the L25 that I actually paid to refill it. That's the part they forget to point out: you probably won't use all the fuel in the tank.

Speaking of the food and beer, they were great (again). There was a time very recently when the quality of British beer had gone right down the drain. Too much choice amongst different beers combined with a general lack of knowledge about keeping the stuff meant that frequently the beer was bad. My solution is to enquire which is their most popular beer and buy that. But I've discovered that you can actually ask for a sample now! That's the way to go (next time). In the car heading to the airport, I was listening, on Radio 4, to an interview with someone who has been a director (or spokesman, or something) of CAMRA (the campaign for real ale) for many years. He pointed out something I hadn't really thought about. The decline in beer quality that the big brewers tried to ram down our throats, unsuccessfully, in the 1970s actually paralleled a decline in food quality. Big profits and lots of advertising, meant that they were getting away with passing off alcoholic lemonade and many different types of food as real beer or food. Many people weren't noticing. But some were, fortunately. I was one of those.

To all my American friends. You really don't know what you're missing if you haven't eaten/drunk in a British country pub. And, it's not just pubs. In the supermarkets, they sell real bread! And of course lots of great savory dishes and pies.

What else can I tell you about the trip? It was just great hanging out with family. Especially seeing my 91-year old mother. I wanted to encourage her to work on our family tree. To that end, I did quite a bit of research into genealogical tools. My conclusion? Very disappointing.

Ancestry, the most senior of the offerings, is still quite difficult to use. Too difficult for my mother, certainly. Plus it has several annoying bugs. It doesn't work with Internet Explorer. And, despite advertising 1 billion records, they seem to have a lot of trouble finding my family members (and, no, they weren't all shipped off as convicts to Australia!). We did discover some things she didn't already know (her mother had four more siblings than the four she knew about, for example). FindMyPast was even worse. Not so many bugs and maybe a bit easier to use. But, even with their two billion records, it was no better finding my relations. When you consider that these things want to charge you more than $10 per month, it's just daylight robbery IMO.

Well it's seems we're boarding to it's bye from me.

Puga, the love hound

Hello all, this is Kim, borrowing Robin's blog to commemorate the story of our beloved Puga.

Puga arrived in our lives on April 8, 2008. From the first, she liked to be petted and stroked so much that when I stopped, she would always nudge my hand until she got more. I called her “the love hound” because of this, but also, because she turned out be a supremely devoted, loving little dog. Her heart failed her on April 5, 2016.  She enriched the past eight years of our lives beyond measure. There will never be another dog like her. 

Puga as photographed by her wonderful dog walker, Amy

I first saw Puga’s photo on petfinder.com as I was searching to fill the gap left by Darcy, Robin’s dog who lived with us for the first three years we were married. With Robin’s acquiescence, I submitted an application to adopt Puga from Great Dog Rescue New England. I received an affirmative response that she was still looking for a home, but I couldn’t meet her since she was in Tennessee. They suggested I could talk on the phone with her foster family and find out everything about her, and if we decided we wanted her, she would travel on a special transport truck to Massachusetts. Huh! That’s when we first found out about South-to-North dog adoptions.

And that’s when I had my first conversation with Susan Gilbert, a dog rescue angel in Jackson, TN and Puga’s foster mother. Little did I know that over the years, Susan and I would become further acquainted, share a couple of crazy lost dog adventures (both dogs were found), visit back and forth, and become great friends. Both of us will always be thankful for the little dog that brought us together.

Susan and I at her home in Jackson, TN, 2012 with Puga 

Susan and Puga

Having been assured that Puga was the great dog we were looking for, she did ride the transport and came somewhat nervously into our family. But she quickly became my devoted companion, following me from room to room, sleeping by my side, and waiting for me in her dog bed by the front door every time I went out. If I went on a work or bridge trip, Robin told me that she waited by the front door the whole time. She was always there to give me an enthusiastic greeting when I got home. Puga’s tail wagged constantly. My sister Kara called her a “world-class champion tail wagger.” 

Puga on the day she arrived in 2008

And that name? Well, she answered to it, so we kept it, but we never found out its origins. A Portuguese-speaking acquaintance theorized it might have started as “Pulga,” or “flea.”

She did have a happy life with us. For a few years, we were busy hiking the mountains of New England and Puga followed us up many trails. She loved the outdoors. We always tried to find her a swimming spot in a pond or stream. She didn't really swim, but loved to wade up to her chin to cool off. In her early days she thought it was her duty to hunt rodents, birds, deer, and anything else that moved in the woods. We once lost her for half an hour when she went after a wild turkey. She jumped into nasty swamps to chase ducks, and the one time we took her to the beach, she leapt into the waves and started swimming out to sea in pursuit of gulls! We had to work hard on her training to get her to come back to us, and for many walks and hikes she wore a bell so we would at least have some idea of where she was.

Puga liked going out in the snow....

....and in the rain

I have so many beautiful memories of being in the woods and mountains with Puga by my side. These photos reflect a few of those outings. 

On the trail to Little Monadnock

Cindy and Puga at Lonesome Lake in the White Mountains, 2011

On top of Mt. Hight, 2011

Mt. Caribou in Maine, 2008

Puga’s 4,000-footer achievement list included Jackson, Pierce, Monroe, North and South Kinsman, Carter Dome, Osceola, Moosilauke, Abraham, and Bigelow. And there were many lesser peaks — Cardigan, Ascutney, Kearsarge North, Chocorua, Caribou — as we trained for the bigger ones. I remember Puga leaping across a wide, fast-moving stream on Speckled Mountain as I tried to gingerly cross on the rocks. Puga arrived dry on the other bank; I did not.

When we started fostering other rescue dogs, Puga got a little less attention than she would have liked. To try to make it up to her, I took Puga to a number of recreational and obedience classes including Agility, Nose Work, and Canine Good Citizen. She was never a top performer. I finally realized that what made her the happiest was just being out in the woods — whether on a mountain trail or rambling around the pond near our house. Robin and I did a lot more walking over the past eight years than we would have without her to motivate us — that’s for sure!

Puga in the woods near our house, 2013

A few other memorable aspects of Puga: She got grumpy towards our other dogs as she got older, barking ferociously at them if they threatened to hone in on any available food. Her coat was silky soft, the softest I’ve ever felt, and I loved stroking the fur on the top of her head. She kept a reliable internal clock for mealtimes, and she would give her signature howl when it was time to be fed.

Scruffy Puga

The Howl?

Puga with foster dog Charlie. "Our bowls are empty and we're not happy."

In recent years, Puga stopped running off as much and stuck closer to us. We tried some vegetable gardening in our back yard and Puga loved being out there with me, poking around whenever I was watering plants or whatnot. When our Chihuahua Pixie died 3 years ago, we planted one azalea as her memorial, and then another and though we watered them profusely, neither survived. Puga is now buried nearby, behind our apple tree and soon more flowering bushes of different varieties will be going in to help remind us of them both. Let’s hope the new ones make it!

Puga and CJ in 2013

Lillian and Puga in their Christmas finery, 2011

And a new sweater she got that Christmas!

When Puga was diagnosed with heart disease this winter (we took her to the vet for a telltale cough), we knew her life expectancy was limited. She saw a cardiologist and went on meds that were supposed to keep her alive for 18 months, on average, but she only got another two. I kept her close to me during those two months, and had the chance to spoil her a little more than usual. Her tail was wagging right up to her final moments. I consider it a great gift that she was able to spend them in my arms and that her end came peacefully. Her absence is enormous and my sadness is deep, but I am so very grateful that Puga, the love hound, was MY love. She and I had a beautiful friendship. I hope to find another great doggie love someday, but there will never be another like Puga. Thank you my girl for your unwavering devotion and love.

March 2016