The return to Scotland was uneventful, Jackson as relaxed as ever in the car, even starting to check out the cars behind when he’d run out of z’s, and taking the motorway services and miles on the road in his stride. And soon enough he was back on familiar territory, in the house he’d spent his formative months, but which was soon to become a part of his past.
February 2026
Less than a month later I took on full responsibility for him. Lots of planning, heart-ache and negotiations along the way, and then along with the same four wheels I’d driven him South in, we moved to Perth to finally share the flat I’d been preparing for his arrival. Toys, beds, treats, bowls and food filled the car. Traipsing up two flights of stairs with his worldly possessions took plenty of trips, and then here was ‘home’- to the extent that I would ever call that flat home. Home for the next couple of months before his life was to change irrevocably – and mine too. He was moving to the States as advance party for my own, initially part-time transplant, and ultimately to a more permanent residence.
Now the thought process was far from straightforward. Options in the marital separation were for him, as originally intended, to remain my wife’s. That proved not to be suitable, given his strength and, at times, wilful unpredictability. Having a dog is a huge responsibility and a tie – one that we’d intended to manage together. But when things didn’t go to plan in the marriage, neither did they with poor Jackson. The next option was rehoming to a new, hopefully loving family in the UK. That way I wouldn’t be having him either, for me as unbearable and unacceptable as it was to my wife to keep him, despite how much she loved him.
So option 3 it had to be. Short timescales and already confirmed work and travel arrangements, for both of us, meant I had to take him in February, a few short months before starting my summer season of tours. I couldn’t have him in kennels for the whole summer, and the plan had to be for an eventual move to the US to be with me for life, so timescales were moved, and investigations and arrangements put in place. Then all of a sudden it seemed he had a plane ticket booked to JFK, a vet and behaviourist on call, and a future stateside. Just not quite yet.
Moving to the Perth flat wasn’t as much of a stretch as I thought it might be for him. He literally took the stairs in his stride, knew how and when to gently insist he needed the loo (or of course food), and settled into the new routine he had planned for me. Dogs are creatures of habit, and so I had to get right back into that habit myself. 7am rising, throw on clothes, a 15 minute tour of the park for the morning necessities, and skipping more lightly back up the stairs for breakfast. Time for human necessities then the main walk of the day, generally on a local hill/woodland walk, returning to the flat to work, lunch and repeat. Park trip mark 2 with frisbee and squeaky ball for variety, back for more work and the evening meal, for him at least, before I had my last work of the day. Time to let our hair down, just the two of us, in front of the telly or with a good book, and it has to be said a more relaxed de-regulated approach to who sits and sleeps where. Late night park visit again, more necessities, and we had success in the palm of our paws. For a while.
To help him settle in, I put his new bed in my own bedroom, a second bed, his original, in the living room / office, and a third in the spare room. That worked, giving him options to choose where he put his head down at different times of the day. Nighttime routine started with regular visits from him to check I was ok – Are you awake? I am now ! – it was like the eternally misnamed sleepover for the first couple of nights.
Then with plenty of exercise and growing confidence we found our rhythm – and we both slept better. Until … half a sausage turned out too much for his delicate insides, and on the first night he decided to join me on the people-bed for half an hour, 30 minutes later he was worriedly pointing at the door and I was hurriedly putting on clothes for an unscheduled park visit at 5 in the morning. Playing fast and loose, we went fast to the park, and he proved loose with the necessities, and then he was on a 24 hour fast to nip his runs in the bud. Still, he had the good sense and composure to warn and wait. Star qualities when living with a dog in a flat, I can tell you.
The first couple of weeks in the flat we spent exploring the parks, green spaces and woods as well as the streets of a city with stone built heritage and splendour alongside sadly dilapidated places and people. Discovering Perth together was an education. Seeing it with different eyes, hearing from a dog’s perspective too. Noisy vehicles, nighttime barks, shouts and drunken catcalls, all became the background to our new ephemeral existence. He, we, had to adapt quickly, took to really keeping eyes and ears open.
One afternoon dozing on the couch (yes – a new experience) he was gazing out of the window and started a huff or two, followed by a bark and a dart to the window. It turned out he was exercised by an elevator taking building materials up the outside of a high-rise he could see. Clearly too strange to be left alone, the elevator had to be warned off – I really don’t like you, so keep away ! Apart from that and a couple of insistent woofs to get my attention, he was actually pretty quiet in the flat. Good news, as I was on a knife edge with the landlord – no nuisance to neighbours or he’d be oot ! We only had to survive another month or so. April 1st 2026 he’d have all four feet on a different continent
International-Eyes.org 