Spain update 16 July 2025

Thursday, the 17^th of July 2025

A day we will never forget, a day that will be etched in our memories forever. When we got home from Dr. De Frutos in the afternoon, I sat down at my computer to update the update. Dirk did the same, and while he processed his bills and other paperwork that required his attention, he half-watched the Tour de France.

After half an hour, I noticed the weather was changing and went outside to see where it smelled of "fire," and an unusually large amount of dark, orange-tinged smoke, blown about by a strong wind, darkened the sky. Back inside, I worriedly told Dirk that there must be a fire somewhere. I immediately thought of our conversation on the way to Talavera, where countless signs along the highway warned of extreme fire hazard and workmen were mowing the verges of tall, dry grass and shrubs in the sweltering heat. Dirk thought something like this should not happen to "us" because there were so few trees and plants in Calypo. He was shocked when he came out onto the terrace and, along with other residents who had the same idea, went to look at the end of the street, where our Avenida de Madrid dead ends into the countryside. Meanwhile, I tried to film the helicopters with water bags and the seaplanes with my phone, all flying towards the countryside and a village further away. Even though everyone thinks it would not happen to them, I, like the dogs panting in and out, became more worried and went to the clinic to see JJ lying quietly in his bed, more afraid of me than of the low-flying helicopters and planes. The fact that Dirk was gone so long did not bode well, so I went to check on the gate because I could not make a phone call; everything was down—no electricity, nothing. When he returned, he told me the fire was still kilometers away. Regardless, I was not reassured. And with good reason, because barely a few minutes later the sky thickened and darkened even further, and above us hundreds of swallows flew, fleeing something terrible. The sun, which occasionally shone through the thick mud, was blood red. Dirk went back downstairs and was back at Casa Belgica 10 minutes later. He panicked and said the wind had shifted towards the shelter. He called Marie-Carmen, who said it was bad, but that the police and fire department were apparently still calm. When he told the police and fire department responding to the fire at the end of the street that there were not only dogs but also people in the shelter, they finally panicked.

What followed felt like a sped-up movie, improbable and unbelievable, yet real. In a few seconds, it became pitch black, and we could barely see, let alone breathe, through the hot, dark haze. Immediately afterward, five police officers forced open the gate, shouting at us to leave immediately. Dirk yelled back that we were not leaving without our dogs and slammed the gate shut. He opened the van's sliding door and yelled at me to get in and call for the dogs, who were running around in panic. I screamed my heart and soul out and jumped into the van, but when the police forced the gate open again, they ran away in fear and panic. We could not see where they were going. I opened my door to get back out and tearfully pleaded with the police officer, "My dogs please, por favor," but it was no use. The man angrily slammed my door shut and stood in front of it. Other Guardia Civil officers entered the house, where Dirk only had time to grab his computer and my medication. Afterwards, we must leave with only the clothes on our backs. I cried my eyes out and groaned in pain for our dogs left behind and the poor dog in the clinic. As we were led out of Calypo, Dirk said, "What now? What are we going to do? Our dogs, our house?" Despite all the grief and guilt we both felt, I had an epiphany and told us to call the Malipulus dog hotel; they would help us. Chaos reigned on the highway; the central reservation and the side verges in both directions had caught fire due to the strong wind and were burning fiercely. Visibility was minimal, so we drove a few kilometers through a scorching, burning "tunnel" toward Madrid, and the intense heat was palpable even inside the van. I did not care; all I could think about was our dogs left behind, I could not stop crying, and kept repeating, "Our dogs, our poor dogs, how scared they must be." Dirk suffered just as much, but his motto is "men do not cry," so... Near the hotel, we still had not been able to reach the owners. Finally, they returned our call themselves, and when I tearfully tried to explain the situation to them, my voice was gone, leaving only a hoarse sound. When Dirk told the hotel owner and his wife, they immediately agreed to take in the dogs. When they asked how many were on board, Dirk had to count them because we had had to leave in such a hurry. We had seven on board, which meant that Leopold, Lola, Maximus, little Josephine, and the recently amputated John-Jack had been left behind. I felt sick and could not stop shivering and crying. Fortunately, the lady and gentleman were very empathetic, they gave me water and took the dogs in with the message that they could stay as long as necessary.

When we left, we decided to drive back to Calypo. This resulted in more than two and a half hours of queuing on the highway in a chaotic traffic jam, constantly having to pull over to allow the fire department, police, and army to pass through, as a ferocious inferno was still raging in the distance. While waiting, Dirk looked for a hotel to stay in, and I convinced him to call Maria and her husband, Rafa, because Marie-Carmen could not be reached, and we were terrified about our dogs being left behind. I was certain they would help us. Rafa had helped at the shelter and with renovations at Casa Belgica, and Maria had helped with the maintenance. Both were from Venezuela, also lived in Calypo, knew our dogs, and only they were "adventurous" and loyal enough to try to enter our house, despite the ban, to check on the dogs—hopefully, if they were still there. After many attempts, we managed to get them on the phone, and they immediately agreed to go while it was still light. During the next hour of queuing in traffic, they managed to enter our house, Rafa saw that the destroyed veranda was still burning but the clinic was spared, only the walls were charred black and the gutter at the back had melted. We watched attentively on their phone screens as, to our relief, Rafa managed to extinguish the fires on the veranda. Meanwhile, Maria was searching for our dogs, who, to our dismay, were nowhere to be found. While I held my breath and pressed for news of John-Jack, Dirk called out to Rafa that there was also a recently operated three-legged dog in the clinic who had nowhere to go. The man led us into the clinic through his screen, but there was no sign of a dog! With tears streaming down my cheeks and my heart pounding, Dirk yelled back, "impossible, he must be hiding somewhere. Find him, find him, please." Rafa continued searching in the darkness and suddenly shouted, "I see him, he is curled up in a ball and hidden under the iron stairs." We were overjoyed, and I let my tears and emotions flow freely because we would never have forgiven ourselves if the poor soul had suffocated or worse. When Rafa found him and asked Dirk if he could walk, Dirk replied with relief, "Yes," and JJ was finally freed from the hell he had survived. We received better news from an unexpected source, as Maria soon arrived with the wonderful news that the neighbor across the street had taken in Lola, Leopold, Maximus, and little Josephine. After our forced departure, the Civil Guard entered our house in the evening and took the dogs. Unsure what to do with them, the neighbor across the street offered to take them in.

When we asked the Venezuelans if they wanted to stay with our dogs overnight, it was no problem at all. They could sleep in the vet's room, if our offspring were not alone. Reassured, we promised to come as early as possible the next day. At 21:00h., we were finally able to take an exit and drove to the hotel. Unfortunately, the road was closed by the police, and we could not reach the hotel via the main road. Luckily, Dirk knew about a shortcut. After we ordered a pizza in the hotel's sparse dining room, which neither of us could eat, we went to the room where I drank two glasses of wine and took two sleeping pills. Nevertheless, it turned into a sleepless night. During the uncertainty, I had invoked St. Francis and said, "Listen, man, if you mean anything to the animals, now is the time to prove it." Apparently, he had listened. When we left the hotel after a meager breakfast and arrived home half an hour later, we were told that the Guardia Civil had returned during the night because the fire had flared up again on the veranda. At this "good" news, the impatient and sooty Lola, Maximus, and Leopold jumped up at us with joy. Then it was little Josephine's turn. We were all overjoyed to see each other again. Black John-Jack lay on the floor in the living room between the couch and the dresser, looking at me anxiously when I gently caressed his head and called him Hyppolythe for the umpteenth time, for no apparent reason. After Rafa, Maria, and their daughter had gone home after a flood of thanksgivings to clean up their own mess, I had to get something off my chest. So, I solemnly announced to Dirk that the poor dog, who had suffered so much in his previous life and now had to survive abandoned, alone, and scared, under an iron staircase next to a burning veranda, was never leaving—never again, I said decisively. We had too many dogs, but he had to stay… Dirk did not argue, so from now on, JJ would become JJ Hyppolythe, or Hyppolythe-Franciscus, or… When we finally went outside together to look, we were stunned. The hedges on both sides were burned away, the air conditioning unit had melted to the wall of the veranda that civil defense had come to extinguish last night, about twenty large plastic dog beds had gone up in flames, the roof, along with all the sheet metal, iron supports, etc.—in short, everything was destroyed. The roof of the laundry room opposite the veranda had also melted on both sides. Fortunately, we had insurance. Ultimately, we were very lucky that the clinic and our house had not burned down, because the fire had been very close. Now it was just beginning... Inside, the house was covered in soot, and outside, there were kilos of soot, debris, dead leaves, water, and so on and so forth... Dirk rolled up his sleeves and started outside, I went inside...

Shelter Update

What I know so far is that fences have burned down, all the canvases hung up to protect the dogs from the sun have gone up in flames, and there is damage to all sorts of things that we must assess later. Those who were present had parked their cars in the cathedral to protect them from the approaching fire, but the old car that was still outside burned to the ground. Three dogs ran away through burn holes in the fence, and one died of fright. Meanwhile, the three dogs that ran away returned to the shelter. I will write an update as soon as we have seen everything and know the extent of the damage.

Monday, the 21^st of July 2025

While Dirk went to pick up our dogs from the hotel this morning, I called Marie-Carmen to let her know he was coming to inspect the fire damage this afternoon. When I told her that sympathizers in Belgium were organizing benefit events and that GINB would cover all the damage caused by the fire in the shelter, we were both overwhelmed by emotions. Despite everything, we were there and must go on. Neither we nor the shelter gave up. Two days after the fire, new tarpaulins were already hanging on the fence for the dogs' safety. Now for the rest...

Thank you to everyone who encouraged and supported us.

Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

Sincerely.

Mireille