Colitas Con Canas - Part 1

So if yesterday I reckoned the dogs had no boundaries, today confirmed it. Feeding time at 6am is absolute carnage. I wonder why it took five of us to chuck food in bowls, but now I get it: no order, just mutts everywhere in full-on chaos mode.

After brekkie duty, we were on poo patrol with a spade, then cleaning blankets and pegging them up. Glamorous, not, but a necessity to keep the dogs clean.

The one sweet bit was taking a couple of dogs down the river track. Bloody lovely walk, me and Maree meandering while the dogs enjoyed life and sniffing everything.

In the afternoon we wandered into town under the guise of getting supplies. On the way, jackpot. A craft brewery. And what’s one to do when faced with a brewery? Go in and sink a few tasters, obviously.

Half-cut, we cruised on to Urubamba markets. Cheese, meat, fresh fruit, friendly banter. Picked up veg for a big stew, some eggs, fruit, and of course the mandatory ice cream.

We hopped a tuk-tuk back for the 3:30pm “feeding frenzy.” Honestly, why dogs need feeding at 3:30 I’ve no idea. The five of us wrestling food bowls while the dogs waited not so quietly

We’d filled up on sneaky chicharrón and papas in town, so dinner was banana pancake.

But then... curveball. The four-year-old kid who lives here put the puppies in a rubbish bin and squeezed glue on them. Yep. Glue. Puppies. My jaw just about fell off. Not much of a telling-off, no lesson learned.

I couldn’t leave the poor wee things, so I helped scrub them down.

Evenings here end the same: dogs finally locked in at 7:30, us in bed by 8pm. That bit I do actually love. Early kip, block out the madness.

The morning kicked off as it always does here, up at six, dogs fed, then out the door with a pack of wagging tails. On the outside it was the same routine. On the inside, I was a mess.

Me and Angus were clashing like two bulls in a paddock, head down, neither willing to step aside. It hit harder than I wanted to admit. I felt myself crack open on the walk, had a good blubber in the bush with Maree by my side and a handful of dogs sniffing around like nothing was wrong.

We talked. About leaving. About maybe cutting this short. The words were heavy, the air even heavier.

The rest of the day blurred into one long loop of walking dogs, feeding dogs, cleaning up after dogs. I went through the motions, but my head wasn’t in it. Crawled into bed that night with a weight on my chest, unsure where this road was really taking us.

I woke up this morning thinking, right, enough’s enough, fresh start today. If I don’t change my attitude, who else is going to? Angus sure as hell isn’t. So, I pulled myself together, fed the dogs, and when he pointed out something I’d done wrong (as he does, quick as lightning), I took a deep breath and tried to keep calm.

I told him straight: “Mate, I don’t mind you correcting me, but it’d mean the world if you could also tell me when I do things right.”

It didn’t land too well. Fell flat, if I’m honest. But hey, at least I tried.

The rest of the morning rolled on in the usual fashion: dogs, dogs, and more dogs.

In the afternoon we had to get down town to the bank. My Butterflybars were at customs but I had to pay a tax for them to be let into Peru. The only way I could do this was at the bank.

The bank system here is wild. First you need a ticket with a number, and but to get this I need a “DSN number,” which seems to be some kind of Peruvian magic code.

I was standing there scratching my head when I overheard an American fella chatting to his teenage son. They had a ticket, so I wandered over and asked how the hell they managed that.

Turns out they live here, and not only did they explain the whole thing, they sorted me right out. The dad, Bill, runs a mountain bike tour company, and his lad Tim is mad keen on bikes too. Proper good blokes. They even used their Yape app (Peru’s version of online payments) to pay my customs fee for me. Honestly, angels in disguise.

Maree and I rewarded ourselves with a cheap market lunch, then an ice cream. It was halfway through licking mine when I realised something was missing, my back molar filling. Shit. The last thing I wanted was a dentist appointment. I’m a total baby when it comes to that sort of thing.

Back at the shelter I reluctantly googled “dentist near me.” Lo and behold, I had a slot booked for 10am tomorrow. No wriggling out of it now.

Later that evening I had a quiet word with Emily, the shelter boss. Open-minded, straight-talking woman. I explained the tension between me and Angus, and she really listened. We came up with a plan together, and I walked away feeling lighter for the first time in days.

This morning’s plan: smash out the chores, then head to the murder house.

It’s always a good sign when you rock up for your dentist appointment and… the dentist isn’t even there. Classic. But in the end, she was worth the wait—calm, kind, and got the job done quick. Almost painless too. Almost.

Back in dog land it was absolute chaos. One old boy with arthritis had worsened and could barely stand on his back leg. The puppy, who’s been crook for weeks, needed his vet check. And the paraplegic dog? Let’s just say diarrhoea doesn’t make wheelchairs easier. Total madness.

By the time the afternoon feed was finally done, Maree and I legged it back to our bunkhouse, cracked open a cerveza, and hid from the world. Bliss.

Who loves hot pools? I do. But Maree? She’s next-level. If there was a world championship for soaking until pruney, she’d be in the finals.

We had two days off so we ditched the bikes (yep, shock horror) and opted for a cruisy mini-van mission into the mountains. On the way to the bus stop, we got deliciously sidetracked by a cycle-themed coffee shop. Inside was a whole gaggle of Colombian cyclists on a shuttle tour through Peru. Couldn’t help myself, I had a yarn and swapped a few road stories over a caffeine fix.

From there it was a bus to Calca, then another rattly little ride winding 1.5 hours deeper into the Andes. The scenery? Jaw-dropping. Snow-dusted peaks, villages tucked into valleys, and even a cheeky glimpse of a glacier.

Lares turned out to be a sleepy little village with hot pools just out of town, and the best part? Not a tourist circus. Mostly locals, a mellow vibe, and campsites right on the doorstep.

By nightfall, the pools emptied out, leaving just us and a small tour group under the stars. Maree melted into bliss. Me? By the time I crewled into our tent reckon I slipped straight into a hot-pool-induced coma.

I know I’m a stuck record, but there’s nothing like unzipping the tent to birdsong, fresh mountain air, and—this time—a steaming hot pool right outside the flap. Not a bad backyard.

The morning rhythm was simple: coffee, hot pools, repeat. With only a couple of locals drifting in and out, it felt like our own private spa. By the time we finally dragged ourselves out, our bodies were so loose we could’ve melted straight back into the water. Jelly. Absolute jelly.

Before leaving town, we climbed up to some ancient tombs carved into the hillside. Rustic ladders took us right up into history—stone alcoves still holding human bones. It felt airy, eerie, and deeply humbling. We tiptoed back down, choosing respect over curiosity. Some places you don’t linger.

The bus back down to Calca wound through mist and drizzle, hiding the views we’d admired on the way up. No matter—we made up for it with a plate of crispy street-side chicharrón, greasy fingers and all. Then the markets called, and we stocked up on the week’s supplies before stumbling on the real gem of Calca: a jugo so jam-packed with greens it was like someone had tipped half a vege garden into the blender.

And then—home. Back to the dogs. The furry crew came bounding to the gate, tails wagging, eyes shining, and hearts wide open. There’s nothing quite like a welcoming committee of unconditional love to wrap up a day of hot pools, tombs, and jelly legs.

⁹Back into the swing of shelter life. Things are humming along nicely now, no stress in the air, just the odd uh-oh moment when one of the dogs drops a surprise inside. You know that scene when everyone suddenly finds something fascinating on the other side of the room? Yep, that was us. And the dog just stares like, well, it’s not my problem.

Emily, the big boss lady of dog rescue, has nicked off to the beach with the kids for a week, leaving Angus in charge.

The head butting has ceased and we are actually starting to appreciate each other. There's a good vibe going on.

The last few days have been a cycle of dogs-us-us-dogs. And honestly, it’s not half bad. We’re starting to know their quirks, their little personalities. Some cheeky, some shy, some that act like they’ve been waiting their whole life for someone to scratch behind their ears. I reckon they’re warming up to us too – or maybe just our snack supply.

But the real highlight? My butterfly handlebars finally arrived. Shiny, curvy, full of promise. Tonight, I’ll dream of pedalling smooth and pain-free, like floating on two wheels. Tomorrow… we’ll see if dreams really do come true.