Animal Crackers

7th September 2925

So the first of September, and we know what that means by now – though the sounds of gunfire to herald the start of the hunting season were much more sparse on Monday morning, and also over this weekend. Not that I’m complaining; it’s much more relaxing walking the dogs without jumping at the sound of shots echoing through the valley and worrying how near the men and dogs might be.

It was a bit surprising as the day had dawned warm and bright, a trend that, according to my iPhone, would last for the next ten days (that being the limit of the forecast) with 0mm of rain. I’m not sure what happened on Tuesday, then, when the clouds gathered early doors and started a drizzly rain that lasted from when we left Pina till midday. To be fair, though, the rest of the week has lived up to expectations, so we’ll forgive this particular American multinational corporation and technology company a rare blip.

In the apparent absence of the local Elmer Fudds, Harry did his best to interact with the wildlife, starting on Monday when we were out for our afternoon walk. He and Peggy stopped about a third of the way down the lane, just before the drainage channel comes off the field, intrigued by something ahead in the grass. Before I knew, Harry had darted forward and was shaking his head from side to side, a snake dangling from his mouth.

A quick tug and yell from me and he dropped it, then I pulled them both back onto shorter leads before taking a cautious look, the snake not having immediately wriggled away. In fact, it wasn’t wriggling anywhere. It was either very good at playing possum or something had got to it before Harry. Nor was it one of our usual brethren, being a sort of nondescript pale colour and much slimmer. Stephen thought it might have been a slow worm when I told him – which might account for why it’s movements were imperceptible. It did seem to have disappeared when we came back up the lane – not that I got too close to the spot, just in case.

The second encounter happened on Wednesday morning when we returned from our walk. Usually, when I let Harry off the lead, he stands and has for a bit of a biscuit while I wipe paws and then, depending on the schedule, either check him and Peggy over and brush them, or clean their teeth, or both. This time as soon as I unfastened the clip, he hared off round to the other side of the house where they had been sniffing about in the recently cleared corner before we’d set off. Ah well, I thought, I’ll just sort out Peggy then go and get him, foolishly thinking that as they hadn’t unearthed anything earlier, there was nothing to unearth.

All was apparently fine, but as I was finishing wielding the toothbrush round Peggy’s gums, he started barking in that excited way that means trouble –confirmed when I heard Stephen yelling at him from the terrazzo. I hastily finished off and made sure Peggy couldn’t rush away to join him then hared round myself to find him by the well, barking and lunging at a rolled-up hedgehog. Yes, we were there again. Before I could hoist him away, he somehow managed to pick it up and run with it dangling from his mouth towards the other side of the house where he dropped it, presumably because it had become a bit uncomfortable.

I managed to grab him and carry him off while Stephen, who had appeared in a state of some undress having not long been out of the shower, removed the hedgehog to a place outside the fencing where it could uncurl and have a bit of peace. I gave his mouth (Harry’s, not Stephen’s) a good wipe and inspection, and he was none the worse, thankfully, so I took him and Peggy upstairs, closed the gate and used his teeth brushing session to have a closer look. All was still fine, except that he spent the next two hours in a heightened state, alternately pacing the outside and following me around the inside in the hope of being allowed downstairs. Fat chance.  

I do blame myself for what happened. Not only should I have known better than to give him the chance to run off and investigate further when we returned from our walk, but I should never had read them Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland as a bedtime story. Just as well there were no passing flamingos for him to use as a croquet mallet; imagine trying to prise his paws off one of them.

Sticking with midweek dining, we hit DiverXo on Thursday evening for their all you can eat dinner menu. I had new lenses to collect from the nice optician in Corridonia so we thought as we were in the area we might as well carry on to the retail park, where I could also have a look for a new waterproof jacket. I have a very good coat with thermal lining for when I’m walking the dogs and it’s cold and wet, but the jacket I have for when it’s warm and wet is not so much waterproof as water absorbent. I found a very snazzy black and yellow number in King, waterproof to 100 (on their scale, whatever it means) and breathable to 500 (ditto) so now when we’re caught in a summer downpour, I won’t return home looking like I’m in as much need of wringing out as the ineffectual jacket.

It wasn’t so much as a change to our usual routine as an addition when Stephen slipped in an extra hair appointment yesterday to make sure he looked his best for the upcoming MICAM. He combined this with a quick visit to the ferramenta (too long absent from these pages) for some ant spray, where he was a little taken aback at the price. “How much! Ian only gave me €20,” he said, much to the amusement of the man behind him. To be fair, there was some change out of my investment; not much, but some.

Meanwhile I was having a bit of a diversion myself thanks to a man in a white van who stopped just the other side of the persimmon tree. I thought at first it was Mario or Luigi in their transit, but when I went out to persuade Harry to stop barking the driver hailed me through his open window. He seemed somewhat reluctant to take my assurances that the “road” did not go any further (what, the grassed over track would suddenly turn into a three-lane highway?) and that the only way to San Rustico was back up the hill and onto the tarmac road.

He manoeuvred round as I headed back in, and then the inevitable happened. You can tell when a car or van gets stuck, there’s something about the way the engine revs desperately and the wheels churn (what little remains of) the road surface. I looked out, expecting to see him reversing as all the others do, but he was just perched on the brow. I returned two or three times over the next few minutes, keeping an eye while messaging Stephen not to try to come down the road and hoping I wouldn’t have to get involved, and my heart lightened when on about the third time a tactor hove into view.

Whether it was serendipity or the driver knew Mario and Luigi (because everybody does) and had called them, the arrival of the cavalry released me, I felt, of all responsibility so I left them to their fun and was able to send an all-clear message to Stephen about ten minutes later. Not a long time, in the usual scale of these things, but long enough for the idiot driver, who either didn’t see the road signs at the top or decided to ignore them, to contribute to the gradual annihilation of the road.

As for today, Stephen left at nine to catch the ten o’clock train to Bologna on his way to Milan, leaving enough time in case he got caught up in the festivities around Buon Cuore, especially the cycle race that is part of the annual celebrations for Our Lady at the small church. There were a lot of cars, but they were conveniently parked up at the side of the road. He did, though, hit the rear end of the cohort of bike riders. Although dissuaded by the marshals from overtaking, he wasn’t delayed unduly as the cyclists headed up the way to Torre San Patrizio while he hung a left down towards the main road and made it to the station in good time.

As for me, nothing exciting has gone down so far in Stephen’s absence, and I’m happy for it to stay that way. Holding the fort on my own is more than enough without the input of any other stray motorists looking for a short cut and a brain.