Did we make it?

Yes, we did.

Did anyone see Pepa wiggling about in her bag?

Yes, they did.

Was it the driver?

No it wasn't, and that's the important thing.

It was a nervy five minute wait in the queue, especially when the driver opened the doors and everyone moved forward. Pepa squirmed about in the bag, but I managed to sneak her past the driver and shot up the back

As it was 3pm the bus was half empty so no one saw when I opened the bag up so Pepa could poke her head out and get some air. It was hot and stuffy on the bus and I was glad it was only for two and a half hours. At Huelva the driver cut off the air con so the bus boiled up, as did Pepa.

So who did see her?
Two American women had spotted her in the queue at Plaza de Armas.
'We knew you had a doggy in there,' said one as Pepa stumbled out the bag in Ayamonte. 'It was wiggling the whole time in the queue.'
So there you go, if you need to transport your dog on a bus then it's possible. I don't know why they don't allow them anyway, I'd happily pay an extra charge.
It was definitely worth the risk. Watching Pepa run about the beach and play in the sea was great fun. She loved it, but is now depressed to be back in the oven flat in Seville.
I'm off on holiday now to Fuerteventura so won't be writing until the middle of September, hopefully with some stories when I get back.

A smuggler's life for me?

Ho Ho Ho and a bottle of Spanish port, dogport.

Everyone is at the beach, at least everyone I know in Seville, which is five people at the moment because in August this place is deserted.

The dilema is, shall I risk smuggling my dog, Pepa, a Westie, on the bus this Thursday? If I don't then I'll be stuck at home all weekend while my lady and her family sun it up, and I'll be left here socrching in the Sevillian heat. I have a special doggy carrier bag that I'm going to disguise with my t-shirt.

I've never tried it before, never had to, but what if I get caught?

Here's my worst case scenario.

I make it on the bus. Pepa has kept still and I've managed to get past the driver and have a free seat next to me, I relax. But half way through the journey a chubby Spanish grandmother, who is petrified of dogs, especially Westies because when she was seven a Westie attacked her favourite doll, has to sit on the only free seat, next to me.

She squeezes up, making me shift over, and peers down between my legs.

Then she screams.

'HAY UNA PERRA, HAY UNA PERRA, ME VA A MORDER - it's going to bite me.'

'Shit,' I mutter. The driver storms over.

'You have to put it underneath,' he says, pointing towards the door.

'I can't, it's over 40 degrees, it'll die.'

'Well you have to get off the bus.'

'But we're in the middle of an abandoned village, how will I get back?'

'Me va a morder,' says the abuela.

'You have to get off the bus,' says the driver. Everyone else starts to tut and moan, and they force me off the
bus.

Then I have to pay 100 euros for a taxi to the beach.

That's my worst case scenerio, my best is that I'll get away with it, either way, log in next week to find out what happened.