Day 9 – Where My Mind Wandered On The Way To Najera

Sunrise at the lake was just gorgeous. I got the timing just right for the photo. Better lucky than good. After the lake, the radio masts.

I had a “ground control to Major Tom moment”, and with nothing much around me but the same scenery, mile after mile, I got to thinking about Bruno. Hadn’t done that in a while. Perhaps the Universe addressing unfinished business. Unblocking blocking.

Last I saw of Bruno, he was sitting in the back of the van that would take him to the plane and onto California to spend the next couple of months with Doris as she tried to unsuccessfully euthanize Aunt Anne (now deceased, natural causes…..). His glare was trying to burn the eyes out of my sockets.  There was no “man’s best friend”, wagging stump and wet kisses. Hell no.  If he could have spoken, “see you next Tuesday” (for those bleeding hearts and nanny-state softies with profanity-blockers on their email – get TF over it), it would have been part of what he had on his mind. He was not chuffed with me. And that’s my sad, lasting memory.

Bruno died two days after his tenth birthday. He enjoyed steak and medical marijuana in the days leading up to the end. It was mercifully quick. Under a week from diagnosis to “sleep”. Fast-growing cancer that sapped energy, but he was greeting and eating and pooping (and toking) until the day before. It was time. Doris called it. No double-guesses (this time).

In my next life I want to be a dog. Not a Schnauzer or Dachshund or Min Pin with painted toe nails and a bow in its hair, owned by a gay couple (no offence to homos, here btw. Live and let exist, in secrecy), but more like a noble, “manly” canine. Still working on the Karmic details.  Will revert.

Quick Bruno CV. Born Oakland NJ (well, we cant be perfect, can we?) into the Jacquet kennel run by Rick Tomita. Lived NY, CA, UK. Within his first year he’d broken a leg, had corneal surgery (pussy-related injury….) and has his ‘nads removed. Sobering. He loved steak, loved booze, had the worst bad breath (wouldn’t chew bones and lack of opposing thumbs rendered flossing or brushing impossible), his best friend was Goblin (his ONLY friend) and his worst nightmare was “Hamas” (AKA Chloe, 8lbs of bitter Shitsu/unfurled tampon that kicked his ass).

He also had a late-in-life habit of grudge-pissing at the front door whenever I left.  I don’t think he missed me. He just wanted to remind me of the hierarchy in the house – he never cleaned up his effluent; I did.  Smart dog.  Miss you.

And back to the present……

Things on my mind (so very Zuckerberg meets Tim Ferris, circa 2017).  List, not sentences:

1. Camino signage is better in Navarre than La Rioja. Unfortunately, I am now in La Rioja and I need to concentrate more. No fun.
2. California has Ventura Highway (America circa 1972) but Spain has Camino Highway(s). I shit you not: beautifully-paved expanses running for miles – for us “pilgrims”. Germany’s tax-€uros at work. Thank you “Mutti”. Mwah!
3. It’s easier to get lost in a city than in the countryside. Getting out of a large town is bedeviled with difficulty, especially at 0530. Try it. On foot with a bad map.
4. Toilet paper makes great ear-plugs. Be sure it is unused.
5. Deodorant is cheap and plentiful but continental Europe still has to discover it.
6. I’m in a country where I can have 2x cups of coffee plus a sparkling water for less than a Starbucks’ Black Americano in London. WTF?
7. I’m in a country where a glass of wine costs €1.40 but a bottle of water costs €2.20. Does not compute.
8. I  can get a 3x course meal for €10 here. I can’t get a starter for that in London.
9. Not all places take foreign credit cards here. WTF?