Life in the Cortijo was
wonderful. The heat had died down (a bit) and I was starting to learn things
about this new area I had moved to. I’d visited a town called Nerja for a
holiday in 1998 and had loved the place so much that I contemplated buying a
plot and building a house. Luckily I didn’t as many houses built on illegal
plots (given planning permission by corrupt officials in the town hall) are now
being bulldozed by, yes, you’ve guessed it – the same town hall.
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| La Herradura |
The area was called the Costa Tropical,
so called because it had a tropical climate and could grow fruits and other
crops normally found in very hot regions. However, only a few months after I
moved in, a ‘tropical’ storm hit the area and rain poured down for days on end.
In the space of a few months, La Herradura, my new home town, had had the
hottest summer in 30 years and the wettest in living memory! Bars on the beach
were flooded, the beach actually disappeared as flood water poured down from
the old town and my terrace was about 4 inches under a torrent of mud which had
been washed down from the terraces behind the house.
None of this had any effect on Elsa
and Django of course. Rain is something to play in for a dog. Mud is also something
to roll in and the fact that the lower terraces were awash just made it all the
more interesting.
It was about November that
another couple of dogs appeared. I noticed that they tended to appear when the
landlord’s father (another Joaquin) was working the land – tending his trees
and keeping the grass down around the orchard. I said hello to this grizzled
old guy in Spanish and my greeting must have been pretty authentic as he
replied with a stream of Spanish. I apologised for not speaking his language
and he began again in faltering English but then, strangely asked if I spoke
French. ‘Oui’, I replied and ever since we have conversed in French. So here we
have, what turned out to be a retired professor of French (from a Spanish High School)
standing speaking French with a Scot in the middle of a Spanish avocado farm!
Turns out the big, male, dog was
called Pipi which, given he lifted his leg every few seconds, seemed to be an
apt name (pipi is the name for a widdle in French). The small dog who followed
every step Pipi made was called Margherita and I just assumed she was part of
the family.
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| Pipi - The Alpha Male |
Gradually, Pipi and Margherita
started to appear regularly on the terrace, not that I was feeding them – I guess
it was just the company of the other dogs they sought. Pipi was quite obviously the
alpha dog on the farm as he stood no nonsense from either Elsa or Django and I
was careful to keep an eye on the dogs when they were playing, quite a wise
move I think as one night I heard an awful fight outside and when I
investigated, poor Django had been set upon by Pipi. Another expensive trip to
the vets!
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| Margherita |
