The house of horrors
One has to admit that house-hunting (or shall we call it area-hunting, as we´re still none the wiser as to where exactly we want / can afford to live) in the heat of August is not the most pleasant thing to do. However, as the clock on our present tenancy is ticking, we have no choice but to keep looking around. So it happened that we found ourselves, yet again, packed into some estate agent´s car on Thursday with the initial intention of looking at three houses further inland, about an hour´s drive northwest from where we are at the moment. Much to our chagrin, our fairly modest list of three definite maybes was soon reduced to an even more modest one, as one house was already under offer and another turned out to be semi-detached (a fairly important fact that must have somehow slipped the agent´s mind when she was putting together the accompanying blurb to describe the property – easily done). Of course the agent had come up with a few other possibilities of her own, so off we went, to ascertain if nothing else whether we actually liked the area and could contemplate living there.
The cortijo we had chosen to see immediately turned out to be a definite no-no. Just by the side of the main road, it was utterly characterless and very shabby. It might have had a fairly new roof (as the agent was quick to point out) but what it certainly lacked was potential. Strolling around the admittedly quite impressive cultivated land at the back of the house, where we found various fruit trees and vegetable patches bursting with produce, Ian took a look at the water deposit which – according to the agent – could have so easily been converted into a pool (for terrapins maybe) and that´s when I spotted ´it`. A term I am deliberately using because at first I had no idea what ´it` was. I found myself gazing at some dark, straggly-looking creature which was chained to the branch of a tree. A sheep? I immediately alerted the others and as we approached the tree, we identified the creature as a dog. The animal was standing with bowed hind legs, most of its fur had fallen out, revealing bare skin covered in sores and ticks. A filthy rope was tied tightly around its skinny neck and the chain that was attached to the tree branch was so short that it restricted the dog´s movements to an absolute minimum. Amongst the faeces and clumps of fur on the ground was a pile of stale bread and a bucket of murky water. The dog, who was dirty and not very fragrant to say the least, didn´t bark, he simply looked at us with the saddest eyes I have ever seen and after I had recovered from the initial shock of this sorry sight, I burst into tears.
You read about these acts of cruelty against hapless animals in the papers but nothing prepares you for the sheer devastation you feel when you actually stumble across a real case of such neglect and abuse. How anyone can be capable of treating an animal so badly beggars belief. Shock and sadness turned into anger (if the owner had come home that very minute, I don´t think I could have been held responsible for my actions) and then practical thinking took over as we wondered what we could possibly do to help. One thing was clear from the word go, leaving the dog there was not an option. We untied him with great difficulty and managed to heave him into the back of the car.
It was nearing 2 o´clock and we didn´t hold out much hope of getting the dog to a vet´s before siesta time. The agent phoned a couple of vets but one had gone to Sevilla for the day and the other one was about to have his lunch. Luckily we managed to find a supermarket which was still open, bought some yoghurt and a tin of dog food and took the dog to a house, which belonged to a friend of the agent, where we fed and watered him. I have never seen a dog relish a pot of yoghurt quite so much. He wolfed down half the tin of dog food too and we let him wander about a bit. He was very weak and unsteady on his feet. Eventually, we made him comfortable in a shady corner where he had access to a big bucket full of fresh water and the agent took him to the vet´s evening surgery at about 6:30pm when we were making our way home to meet our friends who were coming to stay the night with us.
Apparently the vet had never seen a worse case of neglect in her life. The prospects are good though and it looks as if the dog can look forward to a much brighter future. He is now getting daily injections of vitamins, antibiotics to sort out the sores and he´s also been put on a diet of raw liver and meat due to the fact that he is severely aenemic. The ticks have been removed and he is getting a ´haircut` this weekend. The agent is keeping him in her office for the time being while he is recovering from his ordeal, then she´ll be doing her utmost to find a permanent home for him.
I just wish there were something we could do to ensure the dog´s former owner is punished and stopped from keeping animals ever again but apparently this is not that easy here in Spain. Animal rights are still very low down on the list of priorities. I must admit, you do start to question the desirability of living in a country where this is the case.
Needless to say we never actually took a look inside torture cottage. We might not have found our Shangri-La yet but we´ve helped to save a dog´s life and that sounds pretty good to me .
PS: Below, I shall publish a picture of the dog as we found him. I took it because I thought it could be used to raise awareness as to how big a problem cruelty to animals still is in this country. It doesn´t make comfortable viewing and I can guarantee that it will upset you, so please be warned.
Our gruesome find.