By sorting Gizmo out she meant getting him ready for his transit across the pond. He'd been living in Buffalo now for over a year, since that snowy night he'd arrived just after Christmas 2013. Summer was fast approaching and we aimed to re-locate to England before it kicked in. Our original plan to teach English in Chile had pretty much fallen by the wayside when we'd realised that we couldn't cope without Gizmo in our lives.
To be honest I'd been dreading this journey for quite some time, given Gizmo's last long haul flight. If it hadn't been for the drugs this experience would have been a whole lot worse, and this time we were going to try him drugs free. We hadn't suddenly become all moralistic about it, we just couldn't get any drugs.
The first obstacle that I had to overcome was to find an airline that would take him. The Americans it turns out are legions ahead of the Brits with the whole air transportation of pets. Fortunately things had loosened up a little since 2012, and quarantine could be avoided if Gizmo met certain travel rules i.e he was travelling from a listed country, his documents were in order, and he was correctly vaccinated and treated for worms. We employed a local vet in Clarence, New York to assist us with all these requirements, and a nicer fella we couldn't have met. He had himself lived in Ireland, and had brought his pet cat from Ireland to the States. He was also a big fan of James Herriot, the famous vet who wrote a number of humorous books about his life as a vet in Yorkshire. In the 1980s a dramatised TV series was made based on his books and became essential Sunday night viewing for most of the population of the UK. Anybody who liked James Herriot was a winner in my eyes.
Finding an airline to transport Gizmo home proved a little difficult. It would have been fine if we wanted to send Gizmo by cargo, but this was never an option. We'd read too many horror stories about this which ranged from dogs freezing to death in the hold, to dogs running down the runway after the plane because the cargo arranger had forgotten to put them on board. After a multitude of phone calls and emails I came to the realisation that we could only get Gizmo back to England if we took a recognised route. And by recognised route they meant idiotic route. He was only allowed to reach English shores by ferry from continental Europe. Given that I was due a visit to Holland where I'd previously lived for 5 years, I chose Hoek Van Holland as my ferry port. Days upon days of Internet searching later, and I found a flight that would get both me and Gizmo back to European shores for the mere cost of $350 - a bargain by anybody's standards. But there was a catch! There always is!
The catch was as follows. Lee would first have to drive me and Giz up to Toronto, Pearson airport, from where we would catch a Condor Air flight to Frankfurt, before boarding another plane to Amsterdam. Gizmo and I would then get the train from Amsterdam to Leiden (where I used to live). This part, granted was an optional extra, just so that I could get to walk Gizmo around the beautiful streets of historical Leiden before boarding the train to Hoek Van Holland. A short walk to the ferry terminal would follow, before catching an overnight ferry to Harwich. Finally, I would rent a car in Harwich and drive back to my sister's house in Manchester, some 260 miles away. If on paper this sounds like an ordeal, that's because it fucking was. But as much as I feared the trip, the challenge of it excited me greatly.
Eventually Lee's mum's house was sold, and as Lee, Gizmo, and I waited for our departure to England to arrive we moved in with Norma (Lee's amazing grandma). We were there for around 5 months in total, and very enjoyable months they were at that. Lee, not being a person endowed with patience, would make us dinner every night, before retiring to the conservatory to drink wine and smoke cigarettes. It was then time for me and Norma to watch classic films - Brief Encounter, Whistle down the wind, The third man, Casablanca etc etc. During our film nights Gizmo would sit on Norma's lap whilst she calmly stroked him. If he wasn't around she would shout out "where's Junior?" Over those months they formed a solid bond.
Despite her advanced years Norma was never one to miss a trick. If she thought that I wasn't watching the movie with the passion that she required, she would ask me questions about it, "What's the guy's name again? Who's so and so in love with?" etc. Of course she knew full well what was going on, but she also knew that I did not. Her questioning kept me on my toes. So it was not surprising that I looked forward to her toilet breaks, so that I didn't feel under threat to give the film my undivided attention. Norma's prowess was never to be underestimated though! As soon as she left for the toilet I'd breathe a sigh of relief, and get my computer out to check Facebook. Five minutes later she would re-emerge and almost instantly ask me for a synopsis of what had happened in her absence. I counteracted this by using Wikipedia to read the film's plot whilst she was gone, which ultimately meant that she had won anyway.
Before we knew it, it was time to leave America. Obviously our departure was tinged with sadness. It was the unspoken word that we may never see Norma again, but deep down Lee and I knew that was a highly probable outcome. Not to sound too morbid, but with Lee's cousins leaving Buffalo for New York City, her aunt spending more time in Germany with her German husband, and with Lee and I heading to England, it felt as though a time was coming to an end.
On a more positive note, our vet John had promised us that all Gizmo's paperwork was in order, and he was so confident about it, that he gave me his phone number. "Ring me if anything goes wrong, but I can guarantee you that nothing will." Famous last words!
Then the day came, June 15th 2015. I threw my bags, and Gizmo's box in the car, and said my goodbyes to Norma. As we drove off from 765 Woodstock Avenue, Tonawanda in Norma's Toyota Camry, I shed a tear. Gizmo, it can safely be said displayed no emotions whatsoever, other than his incessant whinging as he fought to be liberated from his box
The drive to Pearson airport complete I said my goodbyes to Lee. Once she returned to Buffalo she would be boarding a plane bound for Manchester the next morning. The next time I would see her would be at my sister's house when my ordeal was complete.
The dreaded moment had arrived....
Unlike Delta airlines whom I'd used to fetch Gizmo from South Korea to The States, Condor Air could not have been any less welcoming. I walked onto the plane thrusting Gizmo's box proudly before me, expecting to get preferential treatment. Only to be told "make sure you keep that dog in his box." I pretty much made my mind up at that second that I'd be taking gizmo out of his box as often as I could. Fortunately for me the girl in the next seat fell in love with Gizmo, and wanted him to sit on her knee. The girl told me that she too had a shih tzu herself, and was missing him like crazy whilst she was on her travels. I couldn't have written the script. Whilst I got busy with the business of drinking as much free wine as was humanely possible, the girl next to me spent practically the entire journey mollycoddling Gizmo. This was much to the annoyance of our grumpy flight attendant who insisted that we return Gizmo to his box.
By the time the lights on the plane went out, and it was time for everybody to get sone shuteye, I was pretty much annihilated on red wine - and fit for fuck all. In this state of mind it felt like a great idea to take Gizmo out of his box so that we could cuddle each other to sleep. This, I was to find out, was not one of my better plans.
I've no idea how long I'd been out, but I woke up with a start. "Shit, fuck, bollocks...", was my battle cry as I realised that Gizmo had disappeared. Getting down on my stomach I began to writhe around under the seats in a desperate bid to locate him. Most of the passengers were by this time asleep, and my actions went by largely unnoticed. Unnoticed that is by everybody apart from the irate flight attendant who was walking down the aisle with Gizmo in her outstretched hands. "I believe you're looking for this!", she spat at me with such vitriol that I could only assume that she was a cat owner that hated dogs. It took everything in me not to retaliate with equal venom at her referring to Gizmo with such cold terminology. "This is your last warning, keep that dog in his box!" she shouted at me.
When the plane touched down in Frankfurt I breathed a huge sigh of relief, stage 2 of the trip had been executed. And although it was not without hitch, he was now on European soil. The time between flights was minimal, and before we knew it we were airborne again on route to Amsterdam.
I wasn't sure what to expect when we arrived in Amsterdam. Would Giz and I have to go through rigorous scrutiny? The answer quite simply was no we would not. We exited the airport with absolute ease. Before we knew it we were on a train bound for Leiden.
The weather in Leiden was perfect. The sun glistened on the canals in such a way that I was filled with joy. Who would have thought that 14 years after I left this city that I loved so much, I would be returning with a 2.8 kg Shih tzu/ Yorkie in my possession. As soon as we got out of Leiden station I liberated the poor mite from his box, and put him on his lead. As I paraded him up the Oude Rijn, down the Rapenburg, through the Werf Park, and along Harlemmerstraat, he looked as though he was going to die of fatigue. Only a few more stages to go now and we'd be back on British soil. Months of planning, and thankfully it was all following the script. Nothing could go wrong now surely could it? Well yes it could!
Gizmo hated being on the train. By the time we arrived in Hoek Van Holland he was a nervous wreck. Running in every direction to try and get away from the noise of the train's wheels as they grated against the tracks. On the journey I met another girl who was in a similar situation to me. She was moving to England from Canada, and was bringing her dog with her. We chatted all the way to the ferry port, and continued to chat until the moment that we met the bitch from hell.
"You've got the wrong papers!"the bitch yelled at me, with all the compassion of a warden at a high level security prison.
"No, they're not, they're all good. We've been in contact with our American vet for months, and he says that they're good."
The bitch wasn't having any of it!
"Sir, these papers are not correct, and this dog is not boarding the ship," she told me.
"Well, I'll ring the vet then," I said.
"Ring the pope if you want, that dog is not boarding the ship,", she reinforced.
By the time I got through to John the vet the boat had set sail. John insisted that the paperwork was correct and offered his apologies. But alas there was nothing he could do.
As soon as the bitch knew that I'd missed the ferry she suddenly became nicer.
"I have a friend with a guest house in the town that takes dogs," she informed me. "He'll also be able to take you to the vets tomorrow to sort out your dog's papers," she continued.
By now alarm bells were ringing. I felt as though this was a well rehearsed scam to get money into the local economy. But I was not in a position to argue. My options were limited. The only solace I could take was the fact that she told me that if I could sort it all out by the following evening I would be able to travel on the ferry at no extra cost.
To cut a long story short. By the time the ferry set sail the following evening, all Gizmo's papers were in order, and we were onboard. Of course I was £200 lighter in my pocket, but by this point my only focus was to get him home.
Once onboard I was instructed to take Gizmo down to the hull of the ship, where he was imprisoned in a cage for the night. Leaving him there whilst I retired to my cabin almost broke me. Only one thing could ease my guilt. Well two things actually, a bottle of Cab Sav, and a bottle of Merlot. As I lay on my bed, drinking my woes away I flicked through the TV channels, desperately searching for channel 36. This was the CCTV channel to the dog cages. The TV would flick from cage to cage so that the owners could be tortured by the sight of their dogs looking desperately unhappy. I'd added a few comfy cushions to Gizmo's prison cell, but he'd elected to lie on the metal bars of the cage. Probably to make me feel even worse I imagine. Each time the CCTV imagine of Gizmo came back around he looked slightly more sad. So I did what any self respecting dog owner would do, slammed a few glasses of red, and stuck on Midsomer Murders instead.
The next morning I abruptly awoke. My alcohol intake had been such that I didn't immediately know what was going on. But then it all came flooding back to me. There were 2 burning questions on my mind - Who exactly had carried out the Midsomer murder? Oh yeah, and how was my dog?
Once the ferry docked, I collected Gizmo, hired a Hyndai I 40 car, batted up north to Manchester, and the story was complete. The journey that had started some 1.5 years earlier with a taxi ride from my little village in South Korea (Anmin Dong), ended as I drove down Old Lansdowne Rd in West Didsbury, Manchester. Gizmo had been through 6 countries, on 6 forms of transport, travelling a distance of 11, 000 miles, and yet he was none the wiser. All he cared about was where his next chewy was coming from.
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