Idalecio had lent us a dozen planks to shore up the wet concrete base that supported the rigid wire fencing. As the pups have shown themselves adept at burrowing under inconvenient barriers, we've taken a lot of trouble to make the enclosure secure.
The weather played along, giving us a cloudy day ahead of a downpour on the Sunday and a gale on Monday, a gale that thrashed the trees, shook the house and did its best to rip our shutters from the wall. We didn't like it or get much sleep, nor did the dogs, who whined their discomfiture and sought solace with us.
On Monday our English class talked about a British taxi-driver who retired to the Algarve with a partner of whom he was apparently highly controlling. Tiring of her company some time ago, (it would seem that) he murdered her and buried her body underneath a concrete slab in the garden, telling friends that she had returned to the UK for medical treatment. In the meanwhile, he "moved" a younger woman into the house (an expression used by the local paper rather than chosen by me)
When her children grew suspicious and made inquiries, the police visited the house. The man led them to the slab, telling them that he had buried her there after she had committed suicide - a death rendered highly improbable by the injuries revealed in a post mortem.
Tuesday I was reminded of a bout of diarrhea I suffered many years ago when our TV News production secretary christened me Squits B - a moniker that stuck long after the problem had gone away. (More appropriate was the nickname she earned, Jaws, or Jawsie-Baby although I don't intend to go digging up old history.) Anyhow, the problem proved minor on this occasion although it has prompted me to go on the wagon again for a few days. For her part, Jonesy continued coughing as she slowly got the better of the bug that she picked up in the UK earlier in the month.
I am aware, watching her previous patients emerge from her rooms, of just how insignificant my own problems are in comparison.
Some are people suffering from advanced nervous diseases or dementia, people for whom there is no real hope of improvement and whose partners bear the real burden of suffering.
On Wednesday I dropped Jones the hairdresser while I ran our monthly supply of food up to the dog sanctuary in Goldra. There Ana greeted me with the news that her sister, Marisa, had just been discharged from hospital where she had lain gravely ill for a couple of weeks with blood-poisoning after being clawed by a cat that she was saving from some dogs.
Poor Marisa; she really has suffered more than her share of life's burdens of late. And her absence left her sister bearing most of the dog-caring duties.
Thursday, we took a slow drive around some of the beach developments that we avoid like the plague in the summer months.
There are areas I hadn't seen in years, areas that had changed beyond all recognition - wild coastal dunes into luxury resort territory.
There was little sign of life and virtually none at the expensive restaurants that cluster around the area - the kind we never visit.
Thursday night I watched one of the best - if not the easiest - films I have seen in years - Headhunters, a Norwegian film-noir.
It's what Rolf calls a "crimmie". The plot has to be one of the most complex and carefully thought-out that I can recall. Jones watched half of it until the gore proved too much for her, and there was certainly no shortage of that.
There was no way knowing which way the plot would turn until the final sequence. I was most impressed.
Friday - that's today - we had agreed to try catch the second of the stray bitches to get her spayed. We fear that she too may be pregnant and likely to take us by surprise. Once again we borrowed Sonia's dog transporter. I took a tin of meat down to Idalecio's cottages as bait and tossed small pieces into the carrier, trying to entice the bitch in. After some minutes, we succeeded. Idalecio loaded the carrier into the boot and off we went to Loule, the captive crying pitifully all the way. It seemed much further than usual. We fetch her again on Saturday morning.
Quim Quim has already delivered the sand, cement and stone that I ordered this morning. Luis (the boss man) and Cesar (his driver) know well enough just to unload it at the base of the driveway. They cover the cement bags with plastic, tucking the bill in. I ensure that it's paid promptly. There's a lot to be said for local services and keeping them happy.
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