Day 33 - "Pigs and Puppies" The Spanish Lockdown

Today Pigs and Puppies

Day Thirty three of the Spanish Lockdown, the sometimes amusing, diary of a Brit in southern Spain under the 'Alarma' - normal life has stopped.  

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Day 33 Pigs and Puppies

 

It is day 33 of our Spanish Lockdown and the day dawned gloomy and it was again raining slightly.  This is unusual weather, many of the plants in the garden are looking a bit sad, not only are they recently planted but they are clearly not enjoying the rain.

 

Down below onto the mountain side where the cactus grow, the most amazing thing has happened we have sweet peas growing up and around the cactus.  I have never seen that here before and it brings a weird incongruous mixture of the Mediterranean and English country garden.

 

Three good legs cat has learnt how to balance himself at the end of the swimming pool and escape down to that garden on his own.  We have a child gate that normally prevents him from going AWOL. He has yet to fall in the pool and has chosen the end that is 1.7 Metres deep.  I have moved a Moroccan lantern closer to the edge of the pool to try and stop him.

 

The other day we heard a grunting sound from outside the house.  We suspect that the wild boars that live on the far side of the estate have started to move in, in search of food.  Awe you are probably saying to yourself ..sweet little piggies.

 

Wild boars are not little or sweet, they are bad tempered and will attack and take a chunk out of your leg if you are not careful.  The best defence is to run or jump up to something they can’t reach like a wall.  They also cause quite a lot of damage in the countryside, rooting up crops and generally making a mess.

 

In the village of a Sunday morning we would hear gunshot as the locals went in search of a suckling roast pig for the dinner table.  Here we let them be, they live in the undergrowth around the baranco and that’s where I would like them to stay.

 

Back in the year 2000 we thought our old neighbours from the UK were mad buying not one but two houses in the little village of Frigiliana.  We had already been to inspect what would be their final home and were amused to discover the first room of the house was reserved for the donkey.

 

The burro was and is an important animal.  Even now in Frigiliana the only way to get building materials up the steep winding steps of the narrow lanes in the village is by donkey. 

 

I am a loss to work out just why Spain has such a poor reputation for animal welfare.  It is getting a lot better and Mascotas – as pets are called here, have a much better life.  We have a big pet superstore in the main town and it is full of treats and high quality food for your pet.

 

I wonder if the harshness toward some animals is that they are just there for a purpose.. the donkey just to haul building materials and the like, the dog to be an ‘burglar alarm’ for the property.  This is a phenomena we came across living in the village.

 

Locals with property in the countryside would station a fierce dog in the grounds, sometimes only feeding the brute once or twice a week. We have one such beast as you leave the top of the estate into the mountains.

 

We called him fluffy, after the three headed dog in Harry Potter.  You are best to avoid his gaze, he comes lumerping down the drive way and throws his mighty gait at the..gate making the fencing shake all the way down the drive.  He has a deep and very threatening growl, that turns into a full on bark if he catches your eye.

 

He got out at least once, unfortunately at the same time our President was walking his little dog.  Fluffy ripped the poor animal to pieces in front of its owner.

 

Now you would think this would be front page news, but I feel the Spanish just shrug their shoulders and get on with their lives.

 

Younger Spanish seem to have a different attitude to animals.  The daughter of my dear Spanish friend Maria came running up to us once when we were having coffee in the town.  “Mama I have found puppies.” She said in Spanish “What do you mean?” Maria asked.  Her daughter got out her mobile phone and showed us the photo she had just taken.  There amongst the rubbish of one of the shared bins was a small box with I would guess six dear little pups.

 

I don’t know what goes through the mind of anyone who would do that to a litter of puppies.  Her daughter said she had called the police, I thought well good luck with that.. but no, suddenly the phone rang, it was the local police to say they were horrified and had got the pups to safety and were waiting for the local animal welfare charity to pick them up.

 

Her mother turned to me and said.  “The people who do this sort of thing are bastards.. is that the right English word?’  I replied “Yes it is.”

 

The elephant in the room here in Spain has to be bullfighting.  We have watched one bullfight, only on the TV.  I have to say I found the whole affair distasteful.  The Picadors spend some time chasing the bull on horseback sticking spears in the creature till it is bleeding, confused, weary and angry all at the same time, then the Matador makes his appearance.  The only good thing I saw was at the end the Matador made quick work of dispatching the bull.

 

Rather like horse racing in the UK, there is a lot of money in bull fights and most towns have very fine bullrings – Granada amongst them, paid for often by let us say very influential members of society. The Spanish I meet are either in favour of bull fighting or hate it with a vengeance and want it stopped.  I am in the latter category. So day 33 comes to a busy close, I have been working all day, I am looking forward to an evening relaxing, I am planning to make an apple pie.. still no custard yet though.