Tango

That’s what his loving foster mother called him, and the name suited him perfectly. Tango was our holiday dog. He belonged to the vegetable nursery whose owners rented us a lovely holiday apartment. Claude and Monique are kind-hearted people who offer shelter to every living being—no stray animal is ever turned away.

Tango quickly placed his trust in us, and in return, we gave him all our love. He was a little macho, utterly convinced that he was the boss—everywhere and at all times. Yet there was so much he didn’t know, things that usually come naturally to a dog. At first, taking him for a walk was an adventure: he would throw himself into the leash and drag his human victim mercilessly behind him. It took some time before I could teach him that walking wasn’t just about sprinting full speed ahead—it was also about taking in the surroundings, "reading letters" (as we say in German), and sniffing out traces. We suspected that most guests took him along on their bike rides, where he’d run alongside the bicycle at a relentless pace. There was no time for proper "dog behaviour." With us, he learned it. I truly won his heart when I scooped water for him and let him drink from my hand. From then on, we always carried a container to give him water whenever he needed it.

Tango adored our company and could never get enough of playing. He was tireless—unlike us. The Moroccan workers Claude employed in his business found him highly amusing, and the younger of the two even caught the bug, secretly playing with Tango whenever he thought no one was watching.

Tango was a loving dog. When we were "at home," he never wanted to leave our side. But as evening fell after sunset, his priorities shifted: he had a "job" to do—chasing foxes away from the nursery. Relentlessly, he patrolled the boundaries of his territory, casting us only the briefest, most businesslike glance as he dashed past: "Sorry, I’m busy."

Still, on the very first night of our stay, he spent the entire night at the foot of the stairs leading to our bedroom—just to make sure we wouldn’t leave again so soon.

He also wanted to join us on our outings, which wasn’t always possible. One day, he watched us drive away and then ran after us like a madman—on a busy, fast-moving road. Of course, we stopped immediately and let him jump in; the risk was simply too great. He was overjoyed! Sitting upright on the back seat, he peered between us at the road ahead. This had its downsides, though: one day, a wild boar crossed our path, and Tango was already lunging forward… He nearly broke my arm as I held him back. Yes, his hunting instinct was strong and hard to control. On our evening walks, we quickly realised it was best to keep him away from other male dogs—he was almost impossible to restrain when he spotted a potential rival. But he learned fast. Sometimes, the leash even went slack, and before crossing a street, he would obediently wait at my left side until we reached the other side.

The kitchen was his favourite spot, especially the area in front of the fridge. That’s where the wonderful things came from—the treats we placed on the table in our courtyard, which smelled so good to his nose! And the cooking! Everything smelled simply heavenly. As soon as the first plates were set on the table, Tango was in his element: he would hop onto the bench and wait patiently for the delicious morsels. All he needed was a little bib… But he never tried to steal anything from the table. Hmm—I even taught him a few bad habits, like licking bowls and plates clean. In the absence of a proper dog bowl, I served his treats in our regular dishes, which I then washed thoroughly before putting them in the dishwasher.

Our departure broke his heart—and ours too. Monique offered to let us take him with us, but a dog like Tango couldn’t be kept in a city apartment; he would have been miserable and sick. So we had to leave him with his people, and we didn’t see him again until the following year, during our next holiday.

One day, we received a letter from Monique: Tango had gone to dog heaven, after a life—at least in his last ten years—that had been rich and fulfilling. The news hit us hard, but these words prove that our little macho has not been forgotten.

Tango, I hope that wherever you are now, you’re enjoying total freedom and love!