OK. Here’s the week’s news.
Friday: Manuel and Antonio got elbow deep in yuck, I raised a fence and we lost our money on the lottery again.
Thursday, en route to brunch, we saw a large porker hoofs-up on a table in a restaurant yard, about to be carved up. It was beyond caring – unlike Jones.
Wednesday we got a new bench and chairs to go with the table that had arrived on Tuesday.
On Monday Barri (born in a barrel) came to stay, bringing our canine collection to seven. As I wrote to our house-sitters, who are due down here in two months’ time:
“We have somehow acquired another dog. It is just a little dog and we hope that you will hardly notice it when you come to stay.”
Fortunately, the house-sitters have grown accustomed to the unplanned expansion of the zoo and didn’t seem too put out.
It’s no good telling us “you’re mad”. We know it. And it’s not that we wanted Barri; circumstances conspired against us and left us with little choice.
As you may know, Jonesy – en route to feed the stray at the bottom of the village each evening - has been dropping in on Maggie and her puppy, Barri.
Some weeks ago, after catching one of Joachim’s chickens, Barri was chained up, like her mother. The chain kept on catching on objects, stranding Barri and alarming Jones, who several times rescued her.
Monday evening, when Jones went to feed the stray, she was alarmed to find no sign of Barri. Searching for the little dog, Jones came across Maria-Joao clutching the end of Barri’s chain. The puppy had broken free and chased the chickens again. Maria-Joao, who had injured her foot the previous week, was semi-immobile. Her husband was out and she hardly knew what to do.
And so, to cut things short, three-month-old Barri came to stay with us.
We spent an awkward hour introducing her, one at a time, to the other dogs. Then we enclosed her in the pen – a substantial fenced area - put down food, water and her blanket in the wood shed and bade her good night. Barri arrived back at the front door as we did, having leapt the metre-high gate (as we later discovered). Reluctantly, I took her back to the pen, secured her with a long chain to a tree and retired once more.
After supper, we went back to check. The poor beast had wound her chain around the trunk, nearly strangling herself. After battling in the dark to free her, we scratched our heads. We tried locking her in a bathroom for the night but she nearly battered the door down. So Barbara settled down with her in front of the fire. That suited Barri just fine. She got rather more sleep than my wife but it was just for one night and it served the purpose.
Tuesday morning we walked all seven dogs in the park. Barri was thrilled to join the zoo. The zoo, while dubious, were not overtly hostile – although the puppy’s getting inevitable lessons in manners. That afternoon we took her to the vet for her first inoculations. On the way home she was sick in the car. I had armed Jones with old towels in anticipation.
We arrived home just in time to take delivery of the table we had ordered the previous week. It looks very smart with its companion chairs on the newly cobbled patio extension.
Wednesday we dropped in on Olive, who is preparing to rent out her house for several months to holiday-makers while she returns to the UK.
Anybody who wants to stay in a fine three-bedroom, three-bathroom villa with pool, near the beach, will find details on holidaylettings.co.uk – home 204626 – Casa Jolvin. Manuel (the builder) and his sidekick, Antonio, were working hard to improve the entrance, where years of rain had washed away much of the sandy soil.
Thursday we enjoyed brunch in the sun with our neighbours, Marie and Olly. I warned them to park near the front of the restaurant to avoid views of the pig being butchered around the back. We talked about lots of things including the drought. Everybody is talking about the drought. Portugal is parched. We’ve had no real rain since November and the situation is getting critical.
Friday Manuel and Antonio rolled up to take a look at our middle fossa (septic tank). It’s an open filtration tank, filled with gravel below and sand above. For months the pups have been playing cowboys and Indians in the luxuriant reeds that we planted there ten years ago. Regrettably, they were the wrong kind of reeds and over time their matted roots have strangled the fossa, frustrating its purpose.
So out the reeds came, snipped at the base, followed by their fiercely resistant roots. Antonio and Manuel sweated in the sunshine as they thwacked mightily away. Once the roots were clear, they unblocked the fossa’s entry and exit pipes, leaning over the fossa wall to delve deep into its interior. This was a very yucky job. I stood upwind, taking pictures and giving them encouragement.
It took three tractor loads to remove the stricken vegetation and dump it on our compost mountain. Afterwards the two workers hosed themselves down and I rewarded them with a couple of beers. They’ll be back on Monday to finish the job, once the necessary materials have been delivered.
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