Plans were in place, as I’ve already said, for his flight stateside. The wonderful PetAir people made all the arrangements, I provided the details and documents with my new partner in the states making sure it all went seamlessly. Personal service, pickup from Perth was possible, but Cheshire seemed better to shorten his journey in unfamiliar surroundings, so that was agreed. It turned out the earlier Neston trip would be a trial run for stage 1 of his transatlantic adventure, as that’s where he was to be collected, to go into kennels then on to Heathrow, while I took my own flight to arrive a day earlier to meet, greet and settle my fast confirmed fast friend in his new home. Philipsburg, PA.
March 2026
But before travelling to the US with Jackson we had a bit more exploring to do on terra Britannia. A dog in Scotland is really a licence to explore the terrain, and we made the most of Perthshire while the going was good. Not only was it a suitable way to get ready for my own upcoming walking holiday in Spain, but it was about bonding – none more important, I have to add, than bonding with my new partner, Becky, with whom the young lad would be spending much of his future life, with and without me.
So off we ranged. Drives to Dunkeld, on to Pitlochry, woodland around Perth and along the Tay, which runs through the fair city too. Luckily there was no local 3 strikes policy on the trail, Jackson disgracing himself on his first outing by stealing a woolly hat, paw-printing a pedestrian, and nearly taking out a couple from behind with one of his over-ambitious stick-carrying manoeuvres (dog-oeuvres?). But he soon learned, and now seems also to have realised that carrying sticks in the mouth can be fun, but it’s anything but at the other end when he’s been absent-mindedly chewing the wood. That particular lesson saved a bit on vets’ bills too.
As for Becky-bonding, that couldn’t have gone better. As we started experiencing Perthshire and Pennsylvania in quick succession, preparing for longer-term moves, this was perfect for Jackson to make introductions while he was still firmly on familiar territory. And introduce himself he did. Wags abounded and bounds abounded too. Quickly recognising a dog-lover and cuddle opportunity, particularly with some rule relaxation on my part, Jackson and Becky were best buddies almost to the extent I started feeling left out. He identified her as the alpha she is with her pack of three back home (two superb Shepherds and a gormless Great Dane), listening and responding quickly to her commands and invitations. Soon he was claiming prime position for cuddles, and reclining across one or both of us, showing off far more of his wares than should be seen in respectable company. In short he’d found a kindred spirit and someone else to look up to. Brown eyes to brown. That new home would be easier to achieve now. Reassuring, that realisation. It was going to be alright.
He’d be spending plenty of time on the road on his way to Heathrow, so driving around Scotland and a Mothers’ Day dash to visit Mum again, this time introducing him to his Granny, helped make road trips just another feature of normal life. That particular road down to Cheshire was becoming familiar and he’d have one more trip that way only a couple of weeks later, so I was becoming confident he’d take this in his stride, and then hopefully the pickup and transfer to the South of England and Heathrow would pass like water off a dog’s back. I’d planned to drive him to Neston, where he’d be picked up by PetAir and taken to kennels for a night or two, have his final flight-readiness checks with the vet and then head to Heathrow to check in for JFK. Two nights in kennels was worrying me a little – more my own separation anxiety than his if I’m honest – but the fact I still had a week’s walking vacation in the Canaries meant he would have more than a dry run with people who had looked after him before. I booked him in and we drove to Conalter Kennels on the Ochtertyre estate near Crieff, where not only was he greeted with open arms, but he headed straight off to the kennels, knowing exactly where he was going and that I wasn’t to worry.
That week, with him in the uncharacteristically sun-drenched Scottish hills, and me on an equally atypical trek in the rain on Tenerife in the Canary Islands – travels very much without Jackson but with him on my mind – turned out to be another turning point. Cementing in my mind that travels with Jackson were where my future lay. Abroad with my best friend and future life partner. Adventures were what we were made for. Part of the reason for this realisation, to be honest, was that my vacation had been long in the planning as a joint adventure with my two legged walking best friend, Paul. Countless miles, words and hours had passed between us with our previous respective labradors, my fox-red friend Bracken and Paul’s golden bestie, Billy. Four-legged friends we’d lost mere months apart and that we both still dearly missed. I’m tearing-up as I type these words, which speaks volumes and shows the terrible toll that losing a dog takes, even after a long, active, fulfilled and fun-filled life.
Apart from a Kilimanjaro trek in Tanzania, necessarily in an all-human group, we’d done all our walking with canine companions, and we shared so many stories along the way on Tenerife that absolutely reaffirmed that what I was doing, what Jackson and I were embarking on, was absolutely the right thing to do, and the start of a great adventure. It would be worth the heartache and heartbreak, as raw, sad and painful as they still were. We would be right together and alright together.
International-Eyes.org 