We pulled off near Trujillo because the toilet was full, the fridge was making a clicking noise it’s never made before, and Mary said if she heard one more reggaeton track she’d drive us straight back to Hull.
There was nothing there. One tree, a bin that had clearly been on fire at some point, and a dog. One eye, gammy leg, sat down like he’d been expecting us.
“We’re not keeping it,” Mary said, without looking at it.
“No,” I said. “Obviously.”
We gave it half a crust and a bit of salami. Next morning it was still there. Under the van. Smelled like something had died inside it but didn’t bark, didn’t move. Just waited.
We drove to Cáceres. It followed. Didn’t run, didn’t beg. Just walked behind like it had a job to do.
“Can’t take it into the old town,” I said.
“It’s not with us,” Mary said, loudly, while I opened the gate and it trotted through like it owned the place.
It didn’t do anything wrong. Just lay in the shade near a fountain while we looked at churches and tried to act like normal tourists. Some lad gave it a bit of tortilla. It took it, didn’t say thank you, went back to lying down.
That night it curled up under the van again. Mary gave it a name in the end. Sort of.
“Alright, Stinker,” she said, tossing it the end of a bread roll.
Didn’t last. Two mornings later, in a village with nothing but a nunnery and a vending machine, it vanished. We walked up and down the track a few times. I even whistled. Nothing.
“Probably smelled us deciding not to keep it,” Mary said. Then she got in the van and slammed the door harder than needed.
I didn’t say anything. Just looked under the van one last time. Nothing but dust and two almonds I’d dropped the night before.
We headed south.
Didn’t talk much. She read the atlas sideways again and circled a spot on the map like she was marking a target.
“I want Roman ruins,” she said eventually. “Somewhere solid. Stone. Not moving. And ideally no dogs.”
I nodded. “Mérida, then.”
She shrugged. “Fine. But I’m getting a hotel if the fridge dies again.”
That night I found dog hairs on the back step. Mary found half a chorizo missing.
We didn’t keep him. But he kept pace for a bit.
That’s more than most.
