The Pet Psychic Responds!

Here is what she writes (verbatim):

When you go to look for him, I got the sense that to talk to as many people as possible within a 2 block area from where you live, he says he's not far.  He's not being kept a captive, but apparently the person has no idea what to do or how to find you.  My thoughts and prayers are with you both.  Stay as calm as possible and send loving thoughts to Thunder and before you go out to look for him send him a message in your mind - Thunder ok we're coming out to look for you now, and we're going to ________ and _______ and we'll be calling your name etc.

Let me know when he's back with you.

Blessings
Suzi

here is what he wanted to say - what he gave me is in italics - he described it as best he could:  

“Yes my soul essence is still within the physical dog body known to Deb Perkins as Thunder. Yes the heart is beating and pumping blood throughout the physical dog body and the lungs are receiving air as you are talking with me now.  No I’m not physically injured, the pads of my feet are a bit scraped up but other than that I’m ok.  Yes I am with a human, who took me in.  Yes I am safe and she is taking good care of me and is trying to find where I belong.  Yes both of those sightings were of me and I ran for about another hour or so and then was exhausted.  I curled up in a doorway and slept.  (this doorway was on the right side of the street and it feels like it’s on an incline, not steep, but can feel the slant of the street)  When it got light I started to retrace my steps but it got too busy with people and needed to hide.  (I see him going left into a smaller path, not a street, not an alley because I don’t see cars, do they have walkways between buildings that might be like an alley without cars?)  I walked for a few minutes and this woman was bending over tending to a plant and I sat and watched her.  She turned around and saw me and I could tell that she was kind and gentle.  I started towards her and she opened her door for me to come inside.  She gave me some food and water and I fell sound asleep again.  (this woman’s house is on the right side of this pathway, the door is inset from the street, looks like an archway from what Thunder is showing me) 

No I am not far from the house I can feel it.  I was too tired and hungry to go on any further and that’s why I went to this woman because I knew she would help me.  Yes I’m within 2 blocks North and slightly east of our house.

Yes of course this woman will cooperate and give me back.  She doesn’t know anyone is looking for me.  Yes I can find my way back if I go outside by myself, however that hasn’t happened yet.  It would be easier if you can come and get me.  I realize there are many houses that might look alike to you.  This woman has grey hair, wears it back in behind her head, is medium height, slightly over weight, but not fat, has a very pleasant face and shining eyes.  Yes she lives alone because there is no one else here.  Yes if you called out to me and you were close I can bark and you could hear me most likely.  I make her think of times when she had someone around and it felt good, now she is considering having someone in her life again.  So this has been good for her.

And yes, I do not like the housekeeper, she has a side to her that you have not seen yet.  I prefer never to go for a walk with her again, I am fine being with you.  Yes I look forward to you coming and getting me.  Yes this woman is quite sociable and well known around here so it will be easy for you to talk with people and they will connect you with her.  I’m here waiting and I love you.”

AND SO...we will be looking for the grey haired woman who has taken in our beloved boy dog tomorrow when we are back in Madrid.  Love and Happy New Year to you all!  We'll keep you posted...Delora

The Pet Psychic

My sister recommends that we call the renowned pet psychic, Joy Carroll, to enlist her help in finding Thunder.  She senses my East Coast reaction and explains...I know, I know, sounds kooky.  But she tells a compelling story about some very sane friends of hers who were missing their cat for 4 days when they were persuaded to call Joy.  Joy instructed them to think of a place where the cat could meet them and she would transfer the information to the cat psychically. Yup, my sister says, that very afternoon the cat met them at their meeting place.

That`s great, I`m thinking, but what are the limitations of where I can tell Thunder to meet me?  The above mentioned cat was around Venice, California and met his owners in a special box they leave outside to trap wild animals.  We live in an apartment building in Madrid and a miniature dachshund can`t exactly reach up and ring the buzzer.  Besides, we`re in Switzerland now.  Can she send instructions to take Iberian Airlines flight 629 to Geneva?  Then, just as I`m getting used to the idea of having a pet psychic in my life, I get the bad news from my sister that Joy Carroll, the famous cat finder, is on vacation anyway.  Luckily though, Joy has left a back-up psychic`s name.

The back-up psychic won`t site statistics about the percentage of pets she`s found historically, but does state that she specializes in lost dogs, cats, horses(?), gunea pigs and snakes.  Her website instructs us to fill out a form about when and where Thunder was lost, and to give her any details we can, so that she can locate the spirit of our dog. She also instructs us on how to use Paypal.  She will ask the spirit if the body is working, whether the heart is pumping blood, whether there is any injury.  She will ask the spirit nicely if, in fact, it is still inhabiting the body.  (Can you think of a more delicate way to phrase that "condition" when the spirit no longer occupies the body???)

If the spirit is, ahem, still occupying the body, she will be happy to ask the animal for details about where it is.  She warns that the animal`s perceptions and use of language may not be completely accurate, but she will do her best to describe, as she is told, what the dog`s surroundings look like, whether he is with anyone, what the place looks like, etc.  She warns that if the dog says he is in a white room, it may actually be tan or beige.  Again, she cannot be responsible if our pet can`t tell white from beige.  She also warns that we have to take the dog`s sightline into account.  We have to see things from his vantage point. This is unfortunate, since Thunder is about 5 inches off the ground.  I imagine one of us pulling the children on their bellies on a little device with wheels through the streets of Madrid looking for a beige or a white door. I wonder if there is an extra cost for translating, through the spirit, any Spanish words.

No matter, we`re filling out the form tonight, and looking forward to conversing with our pet`s spirit (and hopefully, his uninjured body) and will keep you posted when he gets in touch.

Thunder

No pet has been better loved than our canine son, Thunder.  Of course, we try to love our pets unconditionally, but this 8 year old dog/child of ours has meant more than we could ever have imagined before having pets.  He is the most empathetic, wise, old soul of a dog that we have ever encountered.  No offense humans, but that canine has more sense in his little paw than most homosapiens we know. So it is with the greatest sadness that I tell you that Thunder has been missing since 8:00 PM on December 23rd.

On that evening, our Chica, using the poorest possible judgement, tried to multitask and do a few errands while walking the dogs.  She tied Thunder and Roxie to a post outside the very busy La Paz market and when she returned, Thunder was gone.  We got a call at almost 9pm that night while dining at a friend`s house.  Within minutes, we were searching the rainy streets of Madrid in four groups with Maria and her mother rounding out our search party.  We were scheduled to leave for Switzerland at 7 AM, ten hours after receiving that phone call, and still weren`t packed. Hours later, having found two people who had spotted Thunder running through the streets, we regrouped to figure out a plan. 

With non-refundable tickets, and the sense that 5 people would be no more useful than one, it was decided that Chip and the kids would fly to Geneva and I would stay to put up posters with Maria.  Reports were filed with the police and a poster was made of Thunder, looking his finest, offering a 500 euro reward. And now, the hard part.  We wait. 

The Spanish are kind-hearted dog lovers.  They treat their pets fantastically and appreciate love for a pet. Several passersby were nearly moved to tears when they saw us putting up the posters; several offered to assist.  We thought the reward money would bring Thunder back more quickly during a holiday when everything closes.  But in every population, reward money can bring out the devil. 

Now we find ourselves in a canine version of the movies Ransom and The Changling -- where Angelina Jolie loses her son, then the police return a boy that looks close, but isn`t hers. We`ve received a dubious phone call from a man that couldn`t answer any questions about Thunder, but swears his brother has him three hours outside Madrid. He offers to drive the distance, then meet to exchange the dog for the money.  Maria explains that Thunder has a chip embedded in his soulder with an ID number and as soon as they take him to a vet and scan the number, we will be thrilled to make the exchange.  When the caller hears this, he loses his enthusiasm.  Oh, he claims, it isn`t about the money...it`s because it`s Christmas... he says he`ll call  us back, but doesn`t. 

Please, please, let this be the time that some kind-hearted person has rescued Thunder from that rainy night; that the lovely person has a hunch that Thunder might like a smoked almond and a piece of a clementine while being petted all night; that this angel has waited until Monday to take the dog to the proper autorities because everything has been closed.  Let Thunder think that he has been away at a dog spa and that we`ll be picking him up any minute...

Choose Your Team!

When you're new to a city, and there is more than one team in town, you can choose your team!

You have no alliances.

You can choose the BEST team!  You can choose the team with the NEW stadium.  You can choose the stadium that has the HEATED SEATS!  Your team can be full of cajillion dollar players!

You can choose the team that has an Opera Singer at the start of the game!!!!

Go Real Madrid!

Dear España - a love letter

Dear España;

I didn't want you to find out this way.  I didn't mean to hurt you, it was never about hurting you...it's just, well, it's me.  I know you found my air ticket in my bag, and yes, I guess I've been unfaithful to you this past week.  I've been with Los Estados Unidos.  Oh! Just to hear you cry out like that chills me to the bone!  It's not that I don't love you dearly.  This new romance of ours is like nothing I've ever felt.  I love so many things about you: the way you dress your streets with beautiful Christmas lights, the way you look at me from your stunning city scapes,  the late nights Flamenco dancing, and the loud tapas bars where we have to shout at each other to be heard.  I know, I know -- we've had lots of tender moments too: dining at the finest restaurants in the world, exploring the most exciting museums on the planet.  Remember that time we walked hand in hand through the Retiro?  I could never replace those...what?

Yes, I'm sorry, E.!  I did walk on my heated floors in my heated kitchen and bathroom but, please, try to understand!  I only used my heated towel warmers because they were, well, turned on.  And while having a really toasty, fluffy towel after a shower was nice, I'm sure I can get used to my ice cold floor and the hard towel that's been dried outside, no problem.  España, I'll do anything to make this relationship work.

Please, don't make yourself sick over this!  It's not wise to answer all these questions... All I'll say is: yes I saw my old friends. Yes, actually, some of my best, closest, dearest friends in the world.  And I'm not going to lie to you. I enjoyed every minute of it.  I enjoyed being able to talk to people and have them understand what the heck I was saying and to take a cab without mishap... OK, sorry!  I'm just saying, we haven't always had the easiest relationship.  You're right, that which doesn't kill us makes us stronger.

I'm so, so, sorry E.  Forgive me! I promise that I'm going back to my language therapy classes to work on what's happened between us.  OK?  I'm going to enjoy the really fun FOF's I've made here and continue to learn everything I can about you.  And I promise, no matter what, I'm going to be faithful to you from now until, well, summer.

Paging Dr. Shepard

On Wednesday, I had been sick for a few days, but feeling better, looking forward to a long weekend in Paris with the family.  I was taking the kids to meet my husband who was already there on business.  But packing several steamer trunks of clothing did me in and on Thursday morning I had to use every bit of energy just to haul my legs over the side of the bed.

It's decided that the kids will fly to Paris alone and I will stay behind -- granny-dumped with the dogs in Madrid.

Time goes by and the dogs and I realize: I am really, really, really sick.  I don't have the energy to throw Roxie her rubber chicken, and I have all kinds of revolting symptoms which I will gracefully refrain from telling you about.  I am conscious of the fact that I should see a doctor, maybe even go to a hospital, since I don't have a doctor in Spain.  Then I think, just tear off my limbs, anything would be better than having to go to an emergency room in a foreign country where I don't speak the language.  Anything is better than going to an emergency room in the United States where I DO speak the language.  I'd almost rather die.  So instead, I lie in bed until I think: I actually may be close to dying now, the hell with the shower and the blow dry, I should use my last few moments on earth to crawl to the elevator, get to the first floor and call a cab.  Then I remember a story that my friend N. told me once, a story so outlandish, so remarkable, that it's been seared into my sickly brain.  It was a story about a doctor who makes house calls!

During my last remaining minutes on earth, my best friend, iphone, convinces me to call N. and get the doctor's name.  She's the sort who does her homework, whose recommendations are unimpeachable.  She reminds me that the doctor she spoke of was a pediatrician, but, kind soul, offers to take me to the hospital anyway.  She also gives me the name of an Anglo-American clinic nearby.  A few phone calls later and it's arranged that a doctor will be coming to my house in about a half an hour!

Sure enough, half an hour later, straight from central casting, my Spanish hero Doctor arrives.  Mas o menos, this is what he looks like:

But, being Spanish, he is dressed in a beautifully tailored suit and an Hermes tie.  He carries a gorgeous leather briefcase and has the bedside manner of an Ambassador.  He is tender attentive and loving professional and seems like he really cares about my illness, despite my lack of a blow dry and make up. He apologizes for his English, and smiles warmly.  He spends plenty of time analyzing my sickness, explaining what course of action he recommends and prescribing drugs.  He doesn't roll his cinnamon-colored eyes when I launch into a full history of my reactions to various classes of antibiotics.  The cost for my liason housecall? 150 euros!  The cost for the 3 prescription drugs, including a third-generation antibiotic? 14 euros -- less than a kilo of cherries!  The experience of having a housecall? Priceless...

Where's the Gaggenau?

I'm wondering: would any of you, when renting a very nice apartment in Madrid, think to ask your realtor if the kitchen and bathrooms were heated?

My fingernails are actually BLUE since returning from the Artic tundra that is our kitchen and I'm realizing: nope, I didn't think to ask that question.  Call me gullible, but when I see an elevator, I figure it probably works.  When I see a lovely apartment, I figure, it's probably heated -- in all the rooms.  First I thought,  gosh the vents must be closed.  Then I looked around and, guess what? No vents!  And no Gaggenau-million-dollar-stove-that-stays-on all-the-time-and-heats-the-kitchens-in-European-country-homes either.

And I know that when I pose the question of heat to my landlord -- through an interpreter, of course -- that he will pfff the air of dismissal through his lips and remind me that nowhere in our rental agreement does it state that all rooms are heated.   

And now it's time for me to run from my warm and cozy bedroom into my freezing cold bathroom for a frosty shower.  I know, some of you are thinking, stop wining and enjoy your European plazas and fountains.  And I will...just as soon as I can get up the nerve to get out from under this warm blanket.