There he was on the petrol station forecourt just outside of Chiclana de la Frontera watching the people pay for their petrol at the cash desk and following them with his eyes as they went back to their cars and drove away.  He was the largest Alsatian I have ever seen and there was a certain longing in his stare which I put down to curiosity and nothing more.  I thought he belonged to the man behind the counter “no abandoned last  weekend” came the reply.  There was something about this dog,
I don´t know what but I said “if he is still here when we get back from Vejer de la Frontera, we´ll take him  with us”.

Sure enough he hadn´t moved some two hours later so into the back of the car he went.  He sat there between us looking out the front windscreen as if he knew where he was going.  No stranger to cars, he had obviously been in one before.

First stop was the vet in the vain hope he would have a microchip – ping ping went the machine and the code number appeared on the scanner.  In all the years we have picked up abandoned dogs this was the first to achieve a ping ping.  “Do you want me to phone them” said the vet adding “don´t suppose they will want him but might as well try”.  Back she came a few minutes later “well I think you are going on a wild goose chase but she says this is the address,  it is not her dog but the owner lives in her street”.   She handed me a note – it was a Jerez address so off we went to Jerez in the car with the dog keeping vigil out the windscreen.

The address did not appear on any map nor on the sat nav so we stopped and asked.  “Yes it is down there said the man pointing down a steep hill to a large barrio.”.  “I don´t know exactly where,  you will have to ask again when you get futher in”.  I was not too keen on the “further in” description it sounded like a jungle rather than an area of housing.  Down the hill we went and as we entered the area of narrow streets we could hear something coming from outside the car.  We turned off the radio and opened the window.  It was flamenco music.  Not from a car radio or CD but live flamenco with real people singing and clapping.  We stopped on a corner as there were a few people gathered outside a house.  Do you know where this is I asked.  The youth  just looked at me and went in to the house.  Out came an old man still clapping to the music we could hear in the background.  I showed him the piece of paper and flashing his gold front tooth he said ” its  further in”.  We were back to this descriptive “further in” again.  Up here, turn right, then second left then ask someone because I don´t know exactly  where it is he said.  As he opened the door to go back in to the house we could clearly see people dancing and a man playing a guitar.  It was the middle of the day??

On we went and by now the dog was getting excited, he started to whine and was looking back and forth at the houses as they passed.  The music continued but every corner we turned the tune changed and the range of voices changed.  We stopped again at two old men sitting outside a house on two orange boxes.  I got a bit of a start as one was sharpening a knife on the kerb stone.  I gingerly asked if he knew where the address was and he folded the blade and put it back in his pocket.  I guessed there was some kind of tooth superiority going on here because he had a gold eyetooth and two front teeth.  Similar directions up her turn left, first right and ask. I said are you having a party, “why” he asked, I said “everyone is singing flamenco”.  He said “that´s what we do, we don´t have to have a reason, we just sing when we want to”.  It made my enquiry seem a bit unnecessary really.

We were now totally lost in the middle of this maze of flamenco music and gold teeth not to mention Cuban heels and grey striped trousers with the odd knife sharpener thrown in for that added touch of authenticity.  My husband said this is a waste of time they wont want the dog back, they probably  ditched it  in Chiclana thinking it would never find its way back here.  “Lets just give it 5 more minutes” I pleaded not really wanting to inherit a hairy monster which would eat us out of house and home.  I spied a tall thin boy standing outside a house with the door wide open and yet more flamenco music floating out in to the street.  “Do you know where this steet is” I asked expecting the usual cascade of left and right but no he beckoned us to follow him and he walked to the corner a few doors away and pointed.  Sure enough the street sign matched the piece of paper.  “Thank you” I said and his smile burst open to show a full top palate of gold teeth.  Bingo he was the tooth daddy, a full set!

I went up to the door and strangely enough no flamenco music.  An old lady opened it and said “have you come about the dog”.  “Yes” I said, “its in the car”, she stuck her head out as if to check then frightening the life out of me by yelling “Manuel” .  Right above my head the wood framed window flew open and a head stuck out “what is it mother”.  The old lady stepped past me and shouted “this is the woman with the dog for number 8″. The window shut and two seconds later Manuel arrived at the front door pulling his braces over his bare chest.  “Come with me” he said and off we went along the street.  Manuel positioned himself in the middle of the road and yelled up at the first floor window “Maria” .  The window burst open and a woman stuck her head out.  “What” she said.  “This woman says she has your dog”.  “My dog” she said surprised “where is it”.  I said “its in the car” and as she obviously was not going to come down until the identity of the dog was confirmed, I shouted to my husband to get the dog out of the car.  She took one look at it and burst in to tears.  I said “is it your dog,  do you want it”.  “Of course I want it” she said and in two seconds she arrived at the front door.  The dog went ballistic at the sight of her.  No doubt that this was her mut.  By now windows were flying open all up and down the street and people were asking what was happening.  Half were answered by Maria and the other half by Manuel who had become an unofficial town cryer.  The people poured out in to the street to welcome the dog we now knew was called Roco and to add their bit to the story of how Roco had run off after a female in season when the family were at their allotment in Chiclana over the weekend and that the family were frantic trying to find him and had to eventually give up and go home to Jerez.  None of the neighbours believed that two daft foreigners had put the dog in a car and gone all the way to Jerez to take it home let alone negotiated the barrio.

Maria was in heaven and brought out her other dog Nena to meet us.  She said did you have any problems coming through the barrio.  “NO, why ” I said.  “I dont think any foreigners have been in here before and it is really hard to negotiate” came the reply which made us realise perhaps we had been lucky to find her.

We have seen Maria several times since and she says Roco has settled down and stays close to home.  They say that life takes you on strange journeys to teach you things and that day we both learned not to pre-judge because sometimes you can be way off the mark.  I learned that sometimes when you see dogs in the street they are lost not abandoned and Maria learned that even a Johnnie foreigner can negotiate a gypsy barrio if they have a will to do so.