Dog-logic

(Seven reasons to move with dog's hordes in the middle of no where in the German country side).

1. Arbeit! Job!

Something that many people don't seem to understand is that, when I am traveling, I am not on holidays or doing tourist stuff all the time. I don't get why they think it's like that, in such an enthusiastic, positive and naive way: as a curious fact, in 11 years of working, I have NEVER earned the minimum salary according to the law. Besides, when you are an illegal immigrant, many times you have to be thankful for a shitty salary, that can be less than $10 per day (yes, it happened to me, I have been exploited). That's why not everybody lives the way I do. You must do some sacrifices in order to reach the supreme goal: to get to know the world when you still have youth and health to fill your backpack with, since there are no guarantees that even tomorrow is going to be like that. As I said previously, the time of the others is not my time. This is a nomad lifestyle and many, many hours of it I devote myself to work, even just in exchange of bed and food. 

For whoever might choose to live that far from his or her comfort zone, there are three websites that can be of tremendous help : HelpX, Workaway and WWOOF. There, the unemployed and starved backpacker can find dozens of jobs in hostels, farms, babysitting or, as in my case so far: in two hostels, in a construction, in a nudist camp and now, in a hotel for dogs.

First reason then to move with hordes of dogs, even in the middle of nowhere.

2. The more I get to know the people, the more I love my dog.

Anyone who knows me is aware that I have a huge passion for animals, and with dogs I usually have an excellent relationship, which allows me to have a conversation with them and ask them about their plans to conquer the Western world. At this point, and since my experience working in a backpackers hostel in Portugal turns out to be a major disappointment, I rather to deal with costumers on four legs and not with the annoying ones only on two. Therefore, I have no doubts about packing my things and make my way to Germany, looking to take care of German dogs and not of their annoying masters, who already pissed me off enough by ringing the bell at 2:00 a.m. in order to begin their Portuguese holidays in the Algarve region.

My lovely and German attic.

3. A room with TV and a bathroom with bathtub!

I am an extremely territorial character. Really, 100%. I usually need my own space, and I would pee around it if that would be allowed by the social human standards. After weeks of sharing a room, the chance of having some square meters of sovereignty, even in a land far away from German civilization, turns out to be a major pro. The dog's hotel not only offers the chance to be in a 24/7 dog's company, but also the opportunity of having my own room and my own bathroom (both of them luxuries that you HARDLY EVER find on the way). 

When I arrive, after wandering around Hann and Düsseldorf, it turns out to be even better than I expected. The bathroom (and this is almost a miracle) has a bathtub. My fascination for bathtubs dates back to ancient times, when I sadly realized I was way too big for my baby bathtub and I had to content myself with the shower for the next 30 years. Therefore, every single night, as a ritual, I leave the dogs watching some TV, enjoying a documentary about dinosaurs or Hitler's childhood, and I devote myself to be under water for at least 30 minutes, with the orgasmic knowledge of the pleasures that are finite. The room, on the other hand, is perched in a garret (I love garrets and since Little Women was the first book I read in my life, ever since I have the idea that a writer must write in an attic). By the way, my room comes with the extra bonus of a TV mounted in the closet. I'm not a big fan of the TV and when I'm traveling I spend months without placing my eyes on a screen, but for hearing some German and learning to discern its guttural sounds comes perfect. It's not like I am going to learn too much German with the dogs, which subsequently turn out to be fairly bilingual and answer me without any language problem when I speak to them in Spanish. Which brings us to the next point:

4. Deutsch natürlich!

Did you believe that having been heart broken by a pair of German-speaking male characters would discourage me to learn the complicated (and for many dreadful) language of Thomas Mann? Fehler! Not surprisingly I am carrying a literary kilogram with The Magic Mountain, even when it is not a backpacker item.

Since I am dealing with bilingual dogs, to be sure about meine Aussprache improvements, I can always count on the language support of Ilona and Linda, the owners of the hotel, a lesbian couple. While it is true that writing and an insane translation, a traumatic experience that will be narrated in a separate chapter (believe me, it deserves it), don't allow me to spend with them the amount of time that you might actually expect, at least during dinner I have the opportunity to build some German sentences, even taking the risk of a brain hemorrhage in the attempt to say: “Pass me the bread, bitte”. By the way: I do not get along with German bread. Which brings me to my next point:

5. Real food!

True: I've starved in my life because I wanted to. It's really immoral to say that I have gone under starvation as it happens to millions of people around the world, in one of these global catastrophes, which become so ordinary, that lose the tragic role that they really deserve.

But, in my own level, the truth is when I travel, one way o another, I eat very poorly. And I can say with certainty that even if it's by choice, I have starved indeed and suffered of chronic hunger. It is not uncommon for me to return to Costa Rica with my pants almost around my knees, as it is starting to happen now, when I'm seriously considering buying a belt. Not every hostel has a kitchen and at least in Europe, eating in restaurants is expensive, hence my healthy nutrition whose happy pillar is the Happy Meal from McDonald's.

Since my very first day at the dog's hotel, I set my limits with Ilona and Linda: I'll be willing to do whatever it takes, from collecting dog poop, cover the holes the dogs make in the garden, take them for a walk, feed them, weeding (try to do it with a small pair of scissors and a mattock on both sides of a fence about two hundred meters length and you will see what I mean), and even the butcher task of cutting by hand 60 kilos of raw cow's stomach, but not cooking. I do not want to punish anyone with that, and certainly not two people who give me a room in an attic and a bathroom with a tub.

Luckily for me, Linda and Ilona's cooking turns out to be like the one of a five star hotel category for demanding-pain-in-the-ass humans, and I spend my month of canine imprisonment feeding me with real food. Both of them, as many Germans, love bio products, so three times per day I have the sensation of chewing and savoring something as abstract as health. Not to mention Ilona's potato salad: the best I've ever had, something to stand out in a land where the yellow color of the flag should represent the legendary Kartoffelsalat. On top of this, the coffee machine, an expensive one, but capable of crushing grains to distill a drink worthy of the gods, becomes, for me, the household object of worship in the house.

Special mention deserve the bread and the legendary Apfelschorle, an apple's drink which I guess you have to be German and a little bit blond in order for its chemistry to work out and then, perhaps, find its taste. As for the bread, I assume that Germans, always so pragmatic, are ready to bake it in a way that also serve as bricks to prevent flooding and other avalanches, which they seriously suffer this summer that I arrive in their Aryan country, it's usual for me to be chased by a cloud. Such a hard bread! The simple fact of getting a slice requires, at least, of a Hanzo katana. My first attempts to cut a slice only lead to Ilona's question, about if that baking mutilation was made by Zitalla, the Canadian wolf that lives in the house and often chews wood. Which brings me to my next point:

Zitalla and Ruby.

6. Dogs!

Since I have memory, it never seemed to me that I have enough dogs and my philanthropic dream is to have my own shelter someday, where any dog that has suffered a miserable life can finally find the peace that all living beings deserve, whether they are walking on two or four legs. I love dogs and this is where this point splits into dozens of reasons as well as clients, guests or residents this hotel have: Sam, the Golden Retriever, that drools constantly; Oli, the small white mat that follows me everywhere; Paula and Ledchen, a pair of labrador sisters; Syd, the white shepherd with potential vision problems; Anton, a distinguished dog with one blue eye and one brown eye, with a bulky fur, which seems like he is wearing his own coat all the time; and I could go on and on because, during my stay, the stays of countless dogs run parallel. To all these, guests, you can add the ones that go only to nursery and the protagonist ones who live in the hotel: Ruby, a miniature that barks in a very high pitched way; Matilda, another tiny dog full of energy; Kami, an equine class dog, giant and with little brain, but a huge soul which fills the rest of her size; Rosella, an elderly Greek enjoying the leisurely life of the elderly, and the shy Zitalla, a Canadian wolf would devour everything in her path (including the bread).

It strikes me that many of the concurrent dogs have an international passport. There is a considerable amount of Greeks, some Spanish and some Balkan. It seems that in Germany there is a shortage of dogs, which they fulfill with outsiders dogs that migrate from shelters in their respective nations, in search of a better life; not in vain they say Germany is the land of opportunity amid the Eurozone crisis. I can easily imagine some of the nearly one million of dogs that roam the streets of Costa Rica boarding a ship, as the immigrants in the 19th century did, heading to Germany willing to find someone who loves them enough to buy them a thalamus, canned food and pay 15 euros per day so they can attend kindergarten and get some education.

However, according to the statistics, it seems that any dog wishing to immigrate must take notice that the Germans seem to like big dogs. Minimum size labrador, glorious size a Great Dane. It must be because they are very tall and maybe too lazy to head down for a simple eye contact, and therefore they look for a dog that can see them straight in the eyes when he puts his legs on their shoulders.

I must admit that this large size preference complicates my life a little bit. Normally if my Beba Lu, my brainless french poodle, refuses to move, I just can carry her. If it's not by the good way, then it will be the hard way. But it's impossible for me, for example, to carry Benet, a Great Dane whose head alone could be a full french poodle. Then it would bad for me, very, very bad. I am pretty sure that many of these dogs weigh more than me. Now, imagine how hard it can be to feed ten of them at the same time, separate them when they have a fight or bring them together while they are playing in a huge garden (so huge that it even has a pond) to go to bed together. It's not exactly easy being the head of the pack.

Kami and Matilda... yes,find the other dog in the picture!

7. Learning to be alone

The hotel, Hundelogik, something like “Dog-logic”, is located near the city of Bielefeld, which according to a German urban legend, is a city that doesn't exist. As I said “close”. For further references, it's rather “close” to a town called Halle (there are two Halle in Germany, this one, where I ended up, is Halle Westphalia). “Close”. Which really means that the hotel is literally in the middle of nowhere, in the naked German countryside, and if you even want to buy cigarettes you must take the bus. Every night, when I look out the attic's window, I don't see a single light as far as my night blindness allows me.

In almost a month I only leave the hotel twice: one to buy a new battery for my laptop (item not found, which is not surprising considering the size of Halle) and another one to accompany Ilona to bring some building materials to remodel her office. Altogether, you could say that in a month I step outside the hotel just for three hours. It is indeed a canine and monastic retreat, where days pass by working in the garden and with the dogs for five hours, and then working alone in my room, writing or translating.

Now that I look back, I realize how much I've changed. I got so used to be alone, that I don't even notice that I never go out. I think this journey is ruining my ability to socialize and, on the contrary, it seems to be a lesson about not expecting anything from anyone, not relying on anyone and not trusting anyone. The only thing that appeals me is being with dogs and sleep with three or four in my room every night, with at least one of them in my bed, under the covers. A guy? No, thanks, if he wants, he can sleep on the carpet.

That's why I consider it almost like a monastery period. Monastery in the sense of achieving even some wisdom. In fact, dogs are very wise, but we, humans, just praise them from time to time, but we don't learn anything of what they preach behind their barking. I am not going to talk about their loyalty or about how they content themselves with just a little bit of love. Asking the same to a person seems illogical to me. Imagine how bizarre it would be if, for example, I jump on you and fill you with drooling kisses every time you walk through the door, in ecstasy, even when we've seen each other just two hours ago, and I content myself with just some petting in return. I mean, no way.

Rather, I focus on the sincerity of the dog. It's easy with dogs: if a dog likes you, everything cool, and if he doesn't, he will show it to you. There is no hypocrisy in a dog and, above all, no qualms in showing that he really needs you or dislikes you. He doesn't care: what he feels, he expresses without any fear of rejection and so, if you really manage to get along with him, his love will never end. This has to be the most beautiful, the most sublime and the most pure of all freedoms. The freedom to give what it comes from the bottom of your heart and show it from the tip of the nose they use in order to smell you, to the tip of the tail they happily wag.

That's the dog-logic that everyone should learn from, starting with me.

Do you like the way I write? Do you think that being a writer is a respected profession, just like dogsitting or any other? So please, please share this text in your social networks or, if you feel like doing positive karma points today, click on the buttons on the right side and subscribe yourself, or give me whatever you think is fair for my work. Just imagine that you invited me a coffee.Thank you for reading! :)