Letter from Espargal: 19 December 2014

This blog opens last Saturday when the weather was too miz for us to work on the wall and Jones tossed a jug of water from the upstairs balcony on to the garden. As good Algarveans we try to direct waste water towards the flowers rather than the drains.

As it happens, the jug concerned was a milk frother that Cathy gave us on her recent visit. The interior base of the jug holds a small, dark tyre-shaped object that does the actual frothing. And as Jones tossed the water over the spreading carob tree below, she realised that her "frothing bit" was going along for the ride. I was alerted to her distress by the accompanying shriek.

So, dressed and walked, we set to searching.

The missing piece was perfectly camouflaged in the dark leaf-bed that lay beneath the green winter canopy. We did a lot of searching. Eventually we found it. That's to say I found it while my wife was working in the kitchen. I took it inside and laid it on the counter while I asked her to describe it. When she had done so, I pointed it out. She was overjoyed. For a few moments, she thought me one of the cleverest people in the world.

On Sunday we brunched at JL's, a snack-bar half way to Loule, as the Hamburgo is closed until January 12. JL's is named from the initials of the two brothers who run it, Joao and Lionel. Both do excellent toasted sandwiches. My only reservation concerns the pop music that screeches from its speakers.

Most of Monday was devoted to May; I have no classes until the New Year. May and I enjoyed identical turkey steaks at Campina's restaurant but having consumed mine as she was barely tucking into hers, I left the ladies to it and went off to draw cash. May loves her lunch out and a leisurely two hours to consume it.

Monday evening, when Jonesy went to feed her long-standing waifs, she found the newcomers trying to get food from a house with dogs of its own. The owners were not pleased. We resolved to put down food for them ourselves. We fear for their safety; strays are not welcome.

Tuesday, after setting Roslan to paint the gates (we have lots of gates), we went down to talk to Idalecio about the three little dogs. Idalecio was hard at work on a holiday cottage. He didn't know where the newcomers came from (somebody almost certainly dumped them) or where they might find a home.

His partner, Sonia, knew someone who would kennel them - if we can catch them - but that would cost us at least €300 a month. It was a depressingly expensive and likely long-term prospect. The chances of finding the dogs a permanent home are vanishingly small. Dog sanctuaries bulge with animals waiting for a home.

I erected a Heath-Robinson barrier on the pedestrian right of way past our fence to dissuade the strays from heading our way and upsetting our dogs. (They ignored it.)

Marie, who came to call, draped the sleeve of her new white, knitted sweater on Roslan's freshly painted gate and arrived at the door with a bright green smear to show for her efforts. Barbara brought her a jacket to put on while I took the offended garment and, Lady Macbeth-like, did my utmost to banish the stain.

Jones then washed it. One can hardly see the paint. I'd say we were 90% successful. (Marie agrees that it was a good job!)

NOTE THE TOES FAR RIGHT

All week we have been troubled by phone calls on the landline. Most of them come from a source identifying itself as "confidential". On principle, we don't take calls from anonymous sources as they are nearly always from cold callers. Also, we are aware that friends and family can reach us - or at least alert us - via our mobiles.

Eventually one night I answered the phone to hear a man say that he was from Meo, the Portuguese telecoms company (inevitably trying to sign me up for an additional package).

JONES MOONRISE

At that point I put the phone down and took out the batteries. Even so, it continued to ring until I ripped out the power plug. I think that Meo's computers simply ring around until someone answers.

If you do need to call us on the house phone, it's a good idea to sms us first. It's so useful, especially if we're in the midst of things and can arrange a call for a more convenient time.

BELOW: AT IDALECIO'S COTTAGES

Wednesday was a run-around. Idalecio agreed to allow us to set up a fenced enclosure for the strays between our lower fence and the wall of the ruin we sold him. While Jones was doing some Christmas shopping (a chore I do my damndest to avoid) I bought a plastic kennel to house them and a roll of fencing, along with sacks for bedding.

As we arrived back home, we saw the three strays rushing hither and thither in a great state of confusion. I've no idea what had upset them. The sooner we can secure them and then get a heavily pregnant bitch to the vet, the better. I took the kennel, the sacking and some food around on the tractor and Idalecio helped me set it up behind the ruin.

Thursday we set out to build a secure enclosure for the three strays. En route I recruited Idalecio, his son, Eduardo, and his dad to our task. Together we erected a fence at one end of the enclosure, keenly watched by the three dogs just beyond it. As we worked at the other end, the dogs burrowed under the fence and entered the enclosure of their own accord. Much reinforcing of the fencing followed.

This proved to little avail. No sooner had we turned our backs than the dogs worked their way out again. So we set to work once more, closing all the gaps and working thorny asparagus into the wires. It was mid-afternoon before we were done.

When I went back later, all three dogs were back in the enclosure. Idalecio said he'd bribed them in with food. We certainly did a lot of bribing ourselves during the day. They must be the best-fed strays in Portugal.

One of the three, the white male, will allow us to scratch his head. The other two, pregnant bitches, are slowly growing in confidence. They will approach closely to take meat from a spoon but they will not yet allow us to touch them.

Friday morning: the babes are out again. Eduardo says they simply wormed their way through the fence. Evidently they are not much impressed with our efforts. But they are happy to follow me back in for their breakfast - and much later in the day for their supper.

For the moment we have left the gate open. If we can establish the enclosure as their feeding spot, maybe they will settle down enough for us to catch the girls and get them to the vet. Maybe!

One day I might write a book about the illusions of retiring to the countryside for a quiet life.