“Harvey,” said Kevin the taxi driver from the School House Hotel to the Heuston Train station on the last leg of our journey to Westport and our housesit with Rooby, the dog.He was describing how his new pup licked his face. He told us of a Frodo, his last dog, gone to the dog biscuit factory in the sky last March. “He came from a couple who was divorcing and he needed a new home.”
“How did you decide on the name?” Rick asked about the pup.
“It was undemocratic. I came home, and the wife pointed to the puppy and said, ‘Meet Harvey`!”
Kevin was short and a bit of a chunk ball, but he knew his history. He pointed out the site of the 1916 rebellion and where the leaders were buried in a pit with lime thrown over the bodies. A mini tour of the city that has convinced us to look for a housesit so we can explore more in depth.
“That’s the oldest pub in Ireland,” he said. Seems during an earlier rebellion a woman stuck her head out the window and it was blown off by a British cannon. “Good story, but not for her,” he said as he doubted the authenticity.
He was also a credit union member since the age of 17, proving once again if you mention credit union to an Irish person, they will have a membership.
Another taxi driver to add to my collection of memorable moments going from point A to point B.