Podlife

There are two things one learns when inviting a Podenco into their lives. One is that they are part Husky, the other is that they are part Limpet Crab. You will never go to the bathroom alone again. You will also never be in any doubt about their needs and wants, especially the wants.

Lucy came to live with me a little under a year ago. At somewhere around four months old, she made the long trek north from Spain by road with a small cohort of other dogs and cats, all travelling to their new forever homes after being adopted through an agency that rescues dogs and cats in Malaga from a range of heart breaking situations. This refugio, ACE SHIN, patches them up, gets them medically sorted out and then tries to rehome them, often in countries very far away.

They do amazing work. I won’t go into the ins and outs of why there are so many dogs and cats that need adopting in this particular part of the world, but suffice it to say, not all countries treat their domesticated animals equally well.

On her first day in the Netherlands, Lucy was understandably a little overwhelmed. Can you imagine? You spend twenty hours on the road, leaving behind your litter mates, and the next thing you know, some blubbering woman has popped a harness, a collar, and two leads on you and is strapping you into the back of another vehicle. Then she starts taking pictures of you! All the while, she’s crying and cooing! Very strange behaviour.

So, like all good dogs, Lucy lay down on the pile of soft blankets I’d put on the back seat and went to sleep. She slept all the way home.

It didn’t take her long to find her feet, though. Within hours of arriving at her new abode, she’d met the cat, eaten a good meal and found the comfiest spot on the couch. Within a day, she’d discovered the pleasure of snuggling up next to me.

She is now eighteen months old, and she has the entire village wrapped around her paw. Her best friend lives next door (my mum’s Spaniel, Zoe) and she has a bevvy of friends around the country. She is also a consummate flirt. Upon meeting a known, or prospective, treat dispenser (human) she will go into what I call coquette mode. The hips sway, the eyelids flutter, and the target melts, offering handfuls of treats as if their lives depend on it. Apparently her kisses cause quite the dopamine rush. If they only knew where those lips had been… One of our neighbours will actually stop his car when driving past to jump out and offer biscuits to both Lucy and Zoe. Of course, Zoe doesn’t actually need to do any flirting. Being a small floofy teddy bear means you just look at someone and treats appear like magic.

While Lucy’s flirtatious ways may have all of her fans fooled, she has had to come to terms with the fact that at home she has to work a little harder to get what she wants. This is where the Husky genes come in.

They say that cats can make up to 100 different sounds. I’m convinced Lucy has them beat. I’ve never had a dog quite so accomplished at communication. She has different sounds, or words, for almost everything. And not only sounds, but gestures and dances too. If you’ve every killed some time on Youtube or Tiktok watching ‘dramatic Husky’ videos you will already have a good idea of what it’s like when Lucy decides she’s not getting what she wants when she wants it. And don’t get me started on the guilt trips!

But then what can you expect when you live with a teenager? At one and a half years old she is in that delightful phase of dog adolescence where her boundaries must be tested and my nerves steeled. Lord Finnegan (the cat) and I are just biding our time until that magical second birthday when, allegedly, the drama will decrease. In the meantime we hide our valuables and ignore the obvious teen tantrums.

For the most part, though, she is an absolute treasure. Lord Finnegan thinks so too.