Christmas etc etc etc.

The excitement and expectation of NQDII and Hamish the Wonder Doodle was everything I expected it to be. But, amongst the joy of Jul were some other unexpected surprises.

On the Saturday, I picked up Hamish from Kastrup airport. The veterinarian’s to be precise.

Hamish arrived at 7.00am and would be through quarantine by 9.00am. At 8.00am I leapt onto the metro and quick-stepped it out to the airport. I’d hardly been able to sleep I was so excited. I was also held some trepidation. Would he remember me? Would he like Copenhagen? Were we doing the right thing making him live in an apartment in a city? The later was not as much of a concern as our inner-city terrace is not exactly a mansion and our back yard in Melbourne amounts to a postage stamp. Still, he free to duck out and do his business whenever it pleases him.

The metro is marvellous. For me, it’s almost door-to-door to the airport and takes only 20 minutes. At that time of the morning there was hardly anyone about but it was a different story at the airport.

First stop was the SAS cargo office about 300m from the main terminal. There, I had to pay ‘some’ bill, which I knew and sign arrival pages. From there, considerably lighter in pocket, I had to get over to the quarantine veterinarian on the outer road of the airport, a couple of kilometres from the terminal.

This is where I ran into trouble.

Before I left, I ran a taxi company and asked if dogs could go in taxis. I didn’t think it such a good idea to take Hamish straight onto public transport.

“Oh yes,” said the voice. “You won’t have any trouble.”

Try living my life for five minutes.

Unfortunately for me, Muslim taxi drivers are not mad on dogs, so pleas from me to drive me to the vets, pick up the dog and drive us both back to Frederiksberg were met with polite (or confused) resounding nos. I finally found a driver who looked to be ‘Danish’ but, of course, he didn’t like dogs.

Right.

Of course, none would drive me to the vets because they’re all banking on a fare back into town, not a two-kilometre trip.

In the end I befriended the man behind the information desk at the terminal who told me to take the free car park bus and ask the bus driver (nicely) to let me off on the main road, from where I could walk to the vets, which I did.

The vet was the most gorgeous woman called, Rie, (I think) who was very understanding about my predicament with taxis and said she would organise it. She added Hamish had a ‘beautiful’ (her words) personality and, in fact, the nicest she seen for a while!

Immigration forms signed and more money paid she told me to turn around to the next window where the customs woman would fix up the customs bit.

I turned to the window.

“Could I have your declaration please?” She asked.

“Umm. What customs declaration?”

“The one you’re meant to have to pick up the dog.”

“Right. Excellent. You must mean the one I know completely nothing about?”

“That would be the one.”

“And, tell me, is there a charge to this customs declaration process?”

She looked at me and smiled.

“Of course.”

“Right. Well, I am sorry but I knew nothing about this and the company that organised Hamish’s flight didn’t tell me anything. Are you sure they’ve not already done it?”

“Yes.”

She must have seen me roll my eyes.

For a few minutes she engaged in animated conversation with Rie across the hall in the vets and then said:

“Well, it’s Christmas. We’ll fill in the forms now and waive the fee.”

Seriously, I wanted to leap through the glass and kiss her.

How nice is that? (Her, I mean, not me wanting to kiss her.)

That done, I had to go and see a chap to pick up Hamish, next door to the vets. His name was Kor but I have no idea if that is how it’s spelt.

Excitement and nerves suddenly overwhelmed me when I pressed the buzzer.

He shook my hand and let me into what amounted to be a huge indoor garage.

“I’ve let him outside so he can have a run around after such a long flight.”

“Oh, thank you, that’s very good of you.”

“Now, did you know you now have to pay a DKR 2,400 pick up fee?”

“What??????????????”

“Hmm. Obviously not.”

I then relayed that there was very little left on my credit card and I hadn’t yet received my Dansk Kort.

“That’s okay. We can send it out.”

Phew. (I think)

Suddenly he opened the door and the big ball of fluff running around wildly outside stopped to look.

Some twenty metres away, I called out, “Hamish!”

He turned his head to one side, then to the other.

I called again.

Suddenly, a look of recognition.

He leapt a metre in the air, and his legs moved at break-neck speed. He ran full speed over to me, trying to say something and then licked me on the neck, and took off running around the garage trying to find something to pick up to show me – a tradition he’s followed ever since puppy hood.

Round and round he ran at a million miles an hour, then back to me for a cuddle then off again, then back.

He finally calmed down and the taxi Rie had called for me arrived.

Much poorer in pocket but richer in spirit, we headed back to the flat.

One down, one to go the following day.