This blog begins where my last blog ended - with our old dog, Ono - our constant companion these past 16 years since we stumbled across him, a new-born, sightless, squealing handful under a bush near the Quinta.
We really feared last week that the old fellow was approaching his end. He'd seemed one night to suffer some kind of turn that left him staggering around, barely aware of us or the world around him.
Whatever it was seems to have passed. The vet was able to reassure us that he's basically healthy and in good shape for his age. In the space of a few days, a brief course of anti-inflammatory pills, along with supplements, has gone a long way towards restoring his spirits and energies. This is a huge relief.
We feared not only for his life but also for the timing of his pending exit. It would be doubly awful if our October house-sitters had to bear the burden of both seeing him off and disposing of his remains in our absence.
It is not only Ono who's needed a little attention. I had a follow-up consultation with the surgeon who performed minor surgery some months ago. He was pleased to assure me that all was well.
I was pleased to hear it; Jones was more so. She had feared that any complications might interfere with our planned trip to Madeira next month.
For her part, my wife, who makes no concessions to mortality or its first cousin, infirmity, had to concede that she had hurt her back while grappling with an ice-tray in the freezer at the bottom of the fridge. This was an unwelcome development as well as an intrusion on my sphere of interest. One bad back per household may be considered quite sufficient.
Although she assured me daily that her back was either better or, at least, getting better, she submitted (albeit reluctantly) to back-rubs with an anti-inflammatory cream over several days. Happily, her back does indeed appear to be improving. Certainly she has carried on with her gardening and carob picking as though nothing had happened.
On Saturday morning my workers were back, mending some leaky plumbing in the plastic supply pipes to the garden taps, erecting a new tap at the corner of Mary's garden and rubbing down cracks in the exterior house paintwork.
We want to repaint the western face, which gets the worst of the weather, before the onset of the first rains.
With any luck, these might arrive next week - although our hopes are far more often raised than realised.
The only fly in the ointment is a distinct difference in tone between the existing house colour and the new (allegedly identical) paint that we obtained some time ago.
The problem appears to arise from the supplier's computerisation of the old colour system.
I reckon that as long as we repaint an entire surface, nobody will notice the difference. Or, at least, nobody will care.
On Monday Jones had Fatima, the hairdresser, tidy up her hair ahead of a trip to London next week to catch up with her old NBC colleagues. She will be away for several days.
In her absence I will take over her evening duties of care for several local dogs and cats as well as our eight canines and three felines.
Some of these duties, as well as a little watering, may well fall to my sister, Cathy, who is due to arrive here from Berlin the day after Jones departs and to stay on for a week or so after her return. The dogs and I will do our best to make her welcome.
Tuesday dawned much cooler. We spent part of the afternoon collecting carobs.
For the first time it felt cool enough for me to take the dogs out on an afternoon walk instead of just pottering about the park. Although they panted vigorously they benefitted from the exercise. So did I.
Jones would have liked to come along but still feels obliged to give her attention to her thirsty garden, pending those first rains.
If only I could find some way of tiring the orphans. They spend most of the day snoozing in the sun and half the night barking their frustration at being enclosed.
We've tried letting them out of the extensive pen that holds them but they then make an impossible nuisance of themselves as well as a lot of noise.
Once they're aroused, neither a fusillade of almond nuts nor a soaking from the hose will shut them up.
On Wednesday, after my weekly back massage from Jodi, we took ourselves in search of a new restaurant recommended by friends. It took some finding, requiring both GPS assistance and directions from a man cutting up a huge tree.
He was most pleasant and helpful, unlike his large dog, which warned me that I entered his gates at my peril.
The restaurant is strangely located in the midst of nowhere in particular and, as it happened, was closed for the day.
We've been struggling for some time to inflate the barrow tyres with two small foot-pumps that are sitting near useless in the workshop. After a year or two, the leather washers inside them harden and crack, making them ever less efficient.
Thursday: a.m. Autumn arrived with a shiver. I donned a jersey for the first time in months. After dog walking and feeding, I spent half an hour trying the new compressor on the car tyres. Somewhere between me, the compressor, the line and the tyres, there's a problem. I messaged Vitor, who said I should bring it round. He's on leave this week.
Jones has gone off to see Maria, an elderly (are we "elderly" yet?) disabled neighbour who greatly enjoys the company of visitors.
The news is all of the migrant invasion of Europe. The pigeons are in the bird feeder. The wind is blowing hard, tinkling the bells that I've tied to the carob branches. The dogs are champing; time to go walking.
No comments:
Post a Comment