I dreamed about my old dog Tarpum last night and it made me sadly nostalgic for the wonderful dogs and cats we had in the Bahamas (as I write this mind you my Catlet (half kitten/half cat) Manuel is asleep on my lap and Basil is laying blissfully on his new zebra throw across the spare bed).

When we moved to Nassau, we took our Basset hound Poppy with us.  You have no idea the rigmarole it takes to export an animal from the UK.  Dept of Agriculture, endless forms, vets, injections, money etc. It was more trouble than the rest of the move put together particularly as the Bahamas has never signed up to the Pet Passport scheme (no doubt the paper work in somewhere on an official’s desk….).

Poppy did not like it in the hold of the BA flight to Nassau.  Nor did the other two dogs flying onwards to the Caymen Islands.  As we came into land in Nassau the plaintive howling that only a very unhappy hound can make could be heard throughout the plane.  The flight crew had to assure several passengers that it was just the Basset hound setting the others off.  Bless.

At Nassau, armed with a thick manila file of official forms, I sought out my dog.  No one knew where the crate and its unhappy occupant would come in.   Well, that little dilemma was soon sorted as it was shoved down the belt with the other luggage.  Except this one was a lot more noisy.  Her lead and collar that had been securely taped to the top of the crate had obviously been ‘borrowed permanantly’ by one of the helpful luggage handlers so she had to remain in a crate howling the place down. The officials wanted her and us out of there (what would all those tourists think?). A large female official asked me: “Puppy had it’s shots?”. “Yes” I replied and with a wave of her hand we were cleared.  Not a glance at any of the forms.  Welcome to the Bahamas.

Our fist house in Nassau was a small town house and it was terrible trying to keep Poppy quiet.  Luckily we soon moved to a decrepit but big house right on the sea and it was not long before I received a call from the Humane society telling me that for the first time in their history they had an abandoned Basset hound.  As I had the only other one on the Island it seemed only right to go and liberate Rusty and so we quickly acquired the two most disobedient but beautiful dogs on the Island.

Oh the adventures Poppy and Rusty had.  Off along Cable beach.  In dustbins, fed by every passing tourist and adored when I walked them on the beach.  It took me hours to walk past the hotels as every US vacationer seemed to miss their dog and want to talk.  I had some great conversations though.  The Bahamians would run into the sea.  Most are very afraid of dogs and didn’t get that possibly mine may lick them to death but not much more.

It was the rats that caused us to acquire the cats.   Big rats and lots of them.

At first there were a few and we put down traps.  However, waking up to a house with no a/c when a rat has been dead in a sprung trap for hours overnight in a hot kitchen is not my idea of fun.  Nor is hearing them gnawing through the skirting board early morning and night.  Nor is going to feed the dogs a Boneo and when I put my hand into the (big economy size) box having a rat run up my arm and jump off my shoulder.  For that matter, nor is having one walk past when I was watching ‘The Greatest Race’.  Nor the one my housekeeper Marcia trapped under a bucket in the kitchen that I took a broom to.  No.  Trust me it was not fun and when we were offered two kittens we jumped at the chance so Marshmellow and Orange joined our brood.

Sadly, I flew back from the UK one time and found that Poppy was missing.  This rates as one of those ‘really not great’ days.  My father had had a stroke (on my birthday) and I’d flown to his bedside to return a week later.  Still wearing my travel clothes I went to find Poppy only to find her under a palm tree having been hit by a car.  I took her to the Humane Society and an hour later returned with her to bury her in the garden.  Sad sad day.

But very soon I would discover that Potcakes (Bahamaian mongrels) were the way forward and living in an out island, they just come your way whether you want it or not…….

……….to be continued (come back soon to read about finding the Potcakes,  how the cats ended up in a walled enclosure called Yellow and Mellow and more…..)

Marshmellow in the sun....

Rusty and assorted Potcake friends on the beach

Cats and dogs Hide