Letter from Espargal: 10 July 2015

BIRDS BATHING IN MARY'S GARDEN

This hasn't been a great week, where-ever or whenever it started. It was somewhere in South Africa where I had travelled to visit my brother, Brendan, and family.

I arrived to hear that Brendan's son and the latter's partner, Julene, had been struck down by flu - a particularly pernicious variety that had laid them both low. Additionally, Julene was suffering from a kidney stone, a condition that required minor surgery. Within a day my brother also fell prey to the lurgy. He was racked with coughing fits as he lay back in his recliner in the lounge, hardly able to move.

I stayed with him three days. But finding that there was little I could do for him and in danger of joining him, I fled his house before I too fell into flu's embrace. The bug was not one whose effects I wanted to suffer myself - especially while travelling - nor to share with anyone else.

After an earlier than planned overnight stay with Barbara's brother, Robbie, and wife Carol, I brought my flight forward a day to Sunday and came home.

ROBBIE AND CAROL JONES AND FAMILY

My one achievement was to find the owner of a mobile phone that had been left in a plastic box at security. When a security officer asked me if it were mine, I held it in the air and yelled "MOBILE PHONE" very loudly, drawing the attention of the whole security hall. I am blessed with an unnecessarily loud voice (as Barbara often reminds me). In this instance, it reached the owner who came hurrying back to reclaim her phone.

Portuguese Railways - on my return to Portugal - exchanged my Tuesday ticket to Loule for one on Monday afternoon. Fintan fetched me from Loule station that evening. The sun beat off the platform with a fierce and unwelcome intensity, my first real encounter with the sizzling northern summer since emerging from air-conditioned cocoons.

Jonesy and the dogs were very pleased to see me. In fact they were overjoyed; one of the good things about dogs is that they don't hide their feelings. You know when you're missed. For her part, Jones had had a busy time in my absence, trying to tend both beasts and garden in the heat. She did a great job.

In my absence Vitor, the village mechanic, had seen to the annual service of my car. Additionally, he had run the car down to the nearby panel-beaters to remove two mini-dings that had been put into the car's rear wings by malicious poles, the sort that leap up at the last moment. So I found the car in its delivery glory, looking like a restored virgin, with no trace of carnal experience. I was happy to pay the bill.

Tuesday's a bit of a blur. I know I went for a physio session with Jonesy at midday. I was able to report that my back had stood up well to the travel in both directions - a huge blessing.

We lunched on the patio of the snackbar at Funchais, halfway home from Loule. The dogs panted at our feet. Temps have been in the upper 30s for much of the week. Lunch at Funchais is always a glass of wine along with a tomato and ham sandwich, garnished with oreganum and spread with olive oil. There are no better sandwiches, even if one has to discourage the flies and the occasional bee.

Wednesday we went to visit May, who is now resident in the Monte da Palhagueira nursing home 15 minutes north of Loule. We stopped at her house en route to feed her cat, Ginger, and to collect a couple of items for her.

At the nursing home, I left Barbara to chat to her while I asked the nursing staff how she was getting on. She is suffering from a degree of dementia and is still unable to walk unaided.

Thursday we took Raymond back to the vet. Before I travelled south he had developed a swelling beneath his eye, a condition for which the vet had given us anti-biotic pills. But, as was apparent on my return, the pills did nothing to reduce the swelling.

Close examination indicated a cancerous tumour in his upper jaw - although the dog had shown no other signs of discomfort or ill health. The vet put the likelihood of malignancy at 90 per cent. Given the choice of waiting for analysis of the tumour or putting the dog down immediately - he had already been tranquilised - I chose the latter.

I hope I did right. I hope that someone may one day be as merciful to me if I am in the same position.

The dogs are our family to all intents and purposes.

I tell Jones that it's better we mourn them than they mourn us.

My big dog will never know how many tears we shed for him.

RIP Raymond, where-ever big dogs go when they die.

Friday: the birds are having a party around the bird-feeder and at both the upper and lower bird baths.

As you may see we have placed clay bowls on top of the tree trunk supports, either side of the path. We started out simply putting bird seed directly on to the feeder that our neighbour, Michael, made for us.

But the ants soon found it and cleaned out every single scrap.

Now - to frustrate the ants - the bowl holding the seed sits inside another bowl filled with water.

We plan to go for a drive somewhere. Tomorrow is Jones's birthday.

Unlike me, she enjoys her birthdays. She says age is just a number.

I guess that's one way of looking at it.

But I suspect it's a bit like golf.

Too high a score and you're in danger of missing the cut.