Letter from Espargal: 21 August 2015

Something pretty special happened this week. After months of keeping her distance, Sparky allowed us to stroke her.

That she's full of affection is obvious as she gambols around our ankles, wriggling and squiggling to show her pleasure in our company.

But that's as far as she will go. Caution has always got the better of her.

Although she will happily take treats from our fingers, her instinctive rule has been "don’t touch".

Until Monday, that is, when she allowed Barbara a lengthy gentle fondle and back-scratch. And as if to prove that it wasn't a once off, a few minutes later she allowed me the same.

Of the three orphans she has by far the most personality; she's the leader of the pack, strange-looking creature that she is.

For some weeks Paleface has been happy to be stroked and fondled. In fact he daily seeks out affection. It's only the ever-suspicious Mello - in the background - who still keeps her distance. Maybe one day! Who knows? I hope so if only because we have yet to get collars on the three.

STEEPER THAN IT LOOKS

Saturday morning the boys were back to lay a concrete strip down the steepest part of the Roman road into the park. Like most of the track, it's covered with gravel and it's wickedly slippery. Jones and I have both taken tumbles. So the new strip will give pedestrians a sure-footed route in and out of the park.

It will also serve the left-hand wheels of the tractor (entering) and the right-hand wheels (leaving), cambering it in the right direction - not that the vehicle has run into problems, even when heavily loaded. If necessary we'll lay a second strip; it's not a big job.

The boys' other task was to cement the gap in the line of tiles towards the top of the roof - and later to paint it with a rubberised paint. ("Boys" is not the best description; the fellow on the right is a grandfather.)

Saturday also brought news that May's cat, Ginger, who'd been adopted by friends of hers the previous day, hadn't taken to his new home. He'd walked out the same day. We were distressed to hear it and hoped that he'd make his way back home as we've known other cats do.

Monday we stopped at the house to see if he was back. No luck. We resolved to keep checking.

We also visited May in the nursing home. She wasn't a happy lady following a fall the previous week - when, without warning, on some impulse, she'd tried to stand up at table. She hasn't been able to walk without assistance for some time.

We found her in bed, uncomfortable and unhappy. I reflect often on how one finds meaning in such a situation, with deteriorating body and mind and little hope of improvement.

May's nephew, Kenneth, is due down from Edinburgh this weekend to see her and talk over her future.

Tuesday we took Bobby to the vet. He has an ugly growth on a paw. Bobby is a bad patient, a very bad patient and he doesn't like vets, as he makes abundantly clear.

He refused point-blank to enter the surgery and wasn't at all happy about having his paw examined by the vet outside on the pavement. The bottom line is that the growth needs to be excised.

The vet will visit the house tomorrow to carry out the surgery. On the way home we checked again for Ginger - no sign!

Wednesday: Carlos the vet turned up on time. Bobby, hardly tranquillised by the pills we'd given him as instructed, growled a "keep your distance". With much effort and persuasion we got the dog up on to the patio table where Carlos further sedated him and set about cutting out the growth.

It took the better part of an hour to carry out the surgery, stitch the wound and bind the paw. Bobby came around slowly, having been doubly sedated. By afternoon his spirits had returned. Marie has lent us a large plastic collar that he may have to wear if he starts tugging at the stitches. For his sake and ours I hope not.

As I remarked to Jones, you can't explain to a dog why you're doing things that hurt him or why he shouldn't do things that come naturally - which makes it hard for both parties.

After lunch we dropped in at May's - still no sign of Ginger.

At supper on the patio that evening Jones broke a tooth. Thursday morning I rang the dentist's surgery. His receptionist said he would be away until September 10. So we fell back on a dentist in Loule recommended by neighbours instead.

PICKING GRAPES AT SARAH & DAVID'S HOUSE

First we visited the monthly street market in Alte to see if Jones could find suitable small gifts for the planned get-together of old NBC colleagues in London next month. She wasn't inspired.

P.M.: A pleasant young dentist put in a temporary repair. He thinks it should hold until our regular guy gets back next month as long as Jones sticks to soft foods.

TEXAN SAGE

Fans of Freecell - if any - should be advised not to attempt game number 617. I had gone along pretty merrily through the numbers until then, struggling with a few games but not unduly, and managing to complete them all. Game 617 was an exception. It was just bloody impossible. I looked it online to see if it was one of the several irresolvable games. It wasn't - just exceptionally complex.

I had to follow an online guide move by move to complete it. If resolving game 617 was a condition for entering heaven, heaven would be a pretty lonely place.

I got another email from the Financas, this time to say that my tax return - resubmitted by the accountants - was now regarded as satisfactory.

From what I can glean the trouble arose because some interest payment had been listed in the wrong section. What a fuss!

Whatever the case, I'm pleased to have it all behind me. I don't like squabbles with the taxman; it's not a level playing field.

Friday morning it's back to the dermatologist to have the stitches in my neck out. One way and another it's been a rather medical week.