My love of dogs began for me when my parents decided to emigrate to a small fishing village in Spain called Calpe.  Calpe was a small typical Spanish fishing village on the Costa Blanca. The village had its harbor at the base of an unusually shaped mountain called Penion de Ifach. Beautiful mountains that seemed to stand over us like proud soldiers backed the village itself.  The harshness of the mountains was broken by gentle terraced hills and valleys upon where farmers would meticulously cultivate their grape vines, and harvest their olive and almond tress. Within the mountain themselves would nestle small goat and sheep farmers who although extremely poor seemed to have a wealth and contentment of life that I have never seen again to this day. 

It was at the age of eight that my parents bought me to this beautiful place to live. We had been here before on holidays, but after my father’s early retirement at 49 from the timber business, this time it was for keeps. It had been dad’s dream to live here for many years and I was thrilled at the thought of being part of this adventure. Little did I know then just how much of an impact on my life it was to be. As strange as it may seem I find it difficult to remember anything before Spain. It was as if I had been reborn at that point. In truth I was born 1962 in Boscombe, Dorset and lived the first part of my life in Pool.  My mother was 42 and she had postnatal depression after the birth. My father took us on a world cruse to cheer her up. I was only six months old but it must have affected me, the sight of the ocean and the smell of the sea fills me with excitement to this day. We had had many visits to Spain on holidays and I absolutely loved it, so it was natural that I was overjoyed at the prospect of living there.

It was after a few weeks of Sun Sea and fun that I started to feel a little lonely. I was the one of very few English’s boys living there at the time and although I was picking up the language well it was hard to make friends. After a few initial problems I finally settled into the local school and Spanish way of life. It wasn’t long before I realized the pocket money potential of translating for visitors and friends of my parents, which was to prove very handy later on.  I would help them haggle for a discount in the tourist shops, a job I must say I hated and might explain my innate loathing of shopping now.

As strange as it may seem both of my parents were not animal lovers, don’t get me wrong they would not harm them. They were to them, something that would take up valuable time and mess up the house. My mum God bless her would have a fit if I came in with shoes on let alone bring a smelly dog dropping hair all over the place. Maybe it's because of that, that I was drawn to dogs in the first place. You know what they say; "you always want what you can’t have". If this is so then I will always be grateful to them.

I can’t really place why after all the weeks of living in Calpe I hadn’t noticed the dogs that roamed the streets in the evening, but it was just this one occasion. I saw this dog standing and looking at me I was sat on the wall eating some sunflower seeds at the time. Did he want some of my seeds? I don’t know, but he just stood there and stared. I maintained eye contact with this dog for about five minutes when all of a sudden one of my school friends wielding a big piece of bamboo came charging at the dog hitting and chasing him up the street. To me this looked like fun, I followed him into the night chasing and shouting as he fled. At the time I felt pleased with myself we had got rid of one of those dirty dogs from the mountains that ravage the bins and cause so much mess. As the next day passed I kept trying to justify my actions to myself telling myself I had done the right thing, but no matter how I tried those sad yet proud eyes of that dog stayed with me. Every month or so many of the men from the surrounding farms would go into the mountains for a shoot.  By doing this they would keep the feral dog population down and deter them from coming into the village. I thought I was doing my bit. I found myself walking the streets looking for this dog perhaps I wanted to apologize for my actions. But I was never to see him again. It was a few weeks later that whilst playing with my friends in the hills I noticed a pack of dogs walking across the valley. Without a word to my friends I just dropped everything and ran as fast as I could towards them.

In the distance they looked beautiful and majestic, but as I drew closer I could surly see just how desperate they were. Placing myself in a good position at the bottom of the valley I watched them walk by. It seemed that every step was sapping the last bit of energy. Many of the dogs had terrible wounds from car impacts, tick infestations and fighting. The group was being led by a German shepherd x, with three legs, despite his affliction he was the healthiest looking and strongest of them all. At that time either from fear of revolution of what I had seen I did not make any contact with them but this first meeting was to shape my destiny for the future.

The very next day I gathered all my pocket money and went to our local shop. I was informed that I only had enough for 3 tins of dog food, which would have been totally inadequate. So I brought as many French bread stick that I could by and returned to the place I had last seen the pack. I walked for miles trying to find them but had no successes, so after feeling a bit down hearten I left the breed in the hills. I done this at varying times of the day for some time but the days past by and never seem to see the pack but each time I returned the bread was gone. On one occasion I waited and my persistence paid off. Some of the pack came down from the mountain many of them I did not recognize but they all seemed indifferent to my presence.

Over the next few months I was spending more and more time with the pack. They would appear to drift around between our village and Altea. The rubbish that was left in bins was the main source of food for them but if there was a danger of being shot they would keep away. There was occasion were they would seem to disappear for day's. This would really annoy me, as I would be unable to drift with them because I was always had to turn leave them and head for home. One night the need to stay with them became too great. I had wandered too far from home to get back, so I decided to stay out with them.  I cant tell you how good it is laying out side staring into the stars above with the cricket sinning you to sleep surrounded by my new friends, I was beginning to feel they needed me as much as I needed them and it felt good. Unfortunately my parents didn’t appreciate my little excursion and were getting increasingly concerned for my education and lack of discipline. The answer for them was to send me to a new International private school in Alfaz del Pi.

I new every feral dog for miles around and loved them all I learnt there behavior in the rawest sense, Strength and dominance was the currency here and the strength was the unity of the pack. Out of all my friends there was one that was very dear to me. Strangely he was not a feral dog at all. He was a magnificent German Shepherd dog called Troy (faithful). He belonged to some German friends of my parents, they had brought him over from Germany and I would look after him when they went home to visit. They lived very close to us so it was quit convenient for me to just nip down and look after him. I was under strict instruction not to let him off his chain, as it was his job to guard the house while they away. I couldn’t stand to see him on the chain so, I let him off and he would follow me everywhere. Their visits home became longer and more frequent over next few months until because of family problems they were never to return. I assumed responsibility for the dog and he rarely left my side until it was time for me to return to England. My poor mother was horrified at the thought of me running around with this fearsome dog, but over the years that followed they both learnt to keep away from each other.

Getting enough money to feed the dogs was getting a problem. The pack seemed to be getting bigger. Where did all these dogs come from? To this day I couldn’t tell you, but one thing was obvious they needed food. Twice a week a gypsy boy and me called Marcos used to go out on a small boat full of rocks. With a rock in one hand and a knife and net in the other we would jump overboard. The weight of the rock would get us to the seabed quickly and we would collect Sea urchin Squid and octopus for the waiting French tourists on the beach. This would give us additional money to by food for the dogs. Don't get me wrong my parents weren’t short of a few bob, and I always got toys and stuff like that but the two things I new I would never get from them was, one money to feed the dogs and two their valuable time. These sources of income only last for about a year as I nearly drowned going down to deep and am only still here to this day, because Marcos pulled me out of the sea. I lost my nerve after that. 

A Turning point for me was when mum and dad decided to go on holiday for two weeks and leave me with some friends of theirs. I thought this was great. When the cats away, the mice will play. Mike and Jan lived just down the road. Middle aged couples that were spending Six months in Spain. They had no children and were certainly unprepared for a wild boy like me. Within two days I was driving them to despair. Disappearing all day with the dog and coming home after dark. Mum and dad had got used to me being like this and it suited them for me to amuse myself without getting in their way.

Despite my parents relaxed attitude towards me I had never really been allowed to stay out with the dogs overnight, so I thought this would be the ideal opportunity, after all what harm could it possibly do? I new that this particular evening some gypsy friend of mine who I hadn’t seen for a long time were camped in the valley. Troy and I made our way up to the hill to meet the rest of the pack. We met up and we followed them to Village called Altea. This proved to be a bad move as once again I was blamed for brining them into the village and the Guardia Civil police made me take the pack out and back into the hills. The pack finally settled down after killing a stray goat. Despite a brave defense she had little chance against my friends whom devoured her within minutes. For the first time some of the dogs were aggressive towards me as my curiosity at the kill got me a bit to close. One of the males run over to me and as he did I lay on the floor and buried my face into the ground. I lay there for some time with him standing over me growling by my face but there was no way I was going to make eye contact. The show of teeth and glazed eyes was the only way of telling me to stay away and by this time I knew and understood their body language very well and I did as I was told.

Laying down at the edge of the pack it was interesting to watch one of the more dominant dogs appear to be offering food to the submissive males. At first I thought that this was an incredibly kind gesture. The dog gently placed apiece of the carcass next to the other dog and turned his back on him. He stood their stiff as a board his eyes rolled back watching every move. The other dog nervously sniffed the food and went to take a bite. As he did the dominant male pounced on him, ragged him and saw him off. Within seconds he was doing exactly the same thing again with a different dog. On ever occasion he was setting the other dogs up. The more novice dogs would make the mistake of taking the food and the experienced would just move out of the way and avoid the situation altogether. This action was to make it quite clear who was the strongest and everyone knew their position within the pack.

I can remember many pleasant evenings lying by a campfire, the dogs lying down around me like awaiting patients to be de-ticked. Most of the dogs were covered in them and it had become an important ritual. Sometimes there was so many of them I wondered if there would be any blood left in the dog. A local farmer showed me the best way of removing them. A hot cinder from the fire pressed against the abdomen of the tick would result in a gentle hiss and the offender was gone. As the months past this was later replaced with the end of a lit cigarette with much the same result. The dogs excepted me doing this to them with amazing trust. Some of the ticks were close to the eyes but despite this they would hold themselves steady for me. At the age of 14 It was decided that due to my poor education my parents would return to England.