Sunday walk: Along the River to the Sea

For weeks, I have wanted to walk our river to the sea. Best Beloved and I planned it as a family outing last week but it didn't happen: this Sunday, nothing stood in my way. At just after eleven, Sophia and I loaded the two dogs and the Littles into the Land Rover and set out for the other side of the bridge.

The water level has fallen a lot since the dam overflowed two months ago, and soon only a chain of muddy pools will lead from spillway to the sea. Then those will parch under the summer sun, and the river will be just a memory for the next decade or so.

We couldn't follow the water. Mud, impenetrable thickets of weeds, and bulldozered channels and rises stood in our way, but we picked our way along a track under the motorway bridge until we found a clutch of bee hives tended by their white-suited keepers, then around the edge of a potato field, through a barnyard, deserted but for a couple of chained dogs, along an asphalt road bordered by olive and citrus groves and to an area of greenhouses where Vietnamese workers in conical hats picked peppers.

 Fly-tipped rubbish and river refuse blighted what would otherwise have been a beautiful walk, but flowers made everything bright, and the dogs dashed in and out of the fields searching for mud puddles and sniffing the exciting smells of spring countryside. Frogs serenaded us from the water below, and I wished that we could have found a way down so that I could have initiated my children into the delights of raising tadpoles.

After a burned out car and a wrecked BMW with a sloughed snakeskin on the driver's seat, the asphalt became a track that led us past other fields, the river on our left, to the sea. Neither dog had been to the beach before, and Sophia conned Lucky into swimming by tossing a rock into the waves. Once bitten, twice shy – she refused to go in again. Sputnik tried drinking it, but gave that up as a bad job with a dismayed expression on his face.

Despite not feeling well, Zenon enjoyed the walk. Normally he would have thrown himself into the spirit of our quest for a path to the sea, ranging on each side as a scout, hunting Orcs or other creatures, but a lingering cold made him more subdued. But “Can we do this again next week, Mum?” he asked as we reached the Land Rover on the way back. “I've had a really good time!”  Leo was more inclined to be negative, but I have the feeling that if I suggest another walk next Sunday, he will jump at the chance.

A Visit to the Vet

After his week's elope with the Siberian beauty, Sputnik returned home thinner, dirty, and scarred. He had been staying at Cuz's Supermarket at the end of the road, but although we had tried several times to bring him back, he always found a way to return to his lady, the Ice Queen – so we let them be in their love nest between the gas bottles and the water tanks.

The Acolyte's blood had come off, but he still had some oil stains on his coat. “You should see the back of the supermarket,” Sophia said. “It's disgusting. No wonder he's filthy!” He had a bare patch on his hip, his ears had been bitten, and he had a cough.

“Dissolute living!” I told him as I poured his breakfast kibble. “There's always a price.”

But when Sophia noticed a trail of bright red blood under his tail after yesterday's walk, I decided that the time had come to visit the vet.

“Which vet do you use?” is a constant topic among Paphos pet owners. After much trial and error, I have cast my lot with Paphiakos who also run the largest animal welfare in the district. They are open 0700-1900 every day of the year (although clinic hours are shorter), have bi-lingual staff, clean premises, a tea-room, and plenty of love to go around. Also, their prices are well within the reasonable range.

We arrived at 8.40 and spent the twenty minute wait in the tea room with two enormous cats, two nescafes, and thick slices of banana nut loaf. Overwhelmed by his ride in the back of the Land Rover (“Mum, do you think that Sputnik hates cars so much because he associates them with having been abandoned on the road, probably from a car, and he thinks that we're taking him somewhere to dump him?”), Sputnik didn't know what to do with himself: he had to smell everything at once, to see everything, to investigate the cats, the cake, the outdoors.

The vet gave him a thorough examination, and pronounced him 'healthy, but a bit run down' when we told her of his escapades. “He's been very stressed, very excited,” she said. “He didn't eat well while he was away, and his immune system suffered.” (Why does that remind me of another adolescent male that I know?) “That's why he has an overgrowth of skin parasites that are normally present but controlled.”

“I don't want to put him on anti-biotics for his cough,” she continued, as his lungs are clear of fluid. “But if you notice that it gets worse, that he stops eating, or see more blood, bring him in again.” She gave me a worming tablet for him, and instructions for a thorough bath.

On the trip back he looked out of the window with interest rather than angst, and sprawled on the floor of the back while I nipped into Carrefour to see if I could find any gloves for the Littles (I did – the last two pairs of a size that will fit). When we got home, Sophia bathed him – to his disgust – and he's now sleeping in the sunshine.

The bill – for half an hour appointment with a full examination, two diagnostic tests (fungus and parasites), and a worm pill? Forty-six Euros. Seemed reasonable to me.

It's a Dog's Life... and Death

A stray aristocratic-looking husky bitch that Sophia and I dubbed the Ice Queen showed up last week at the Cuz's supermarket/cafe at the end of the road. In itself, that is not a problem – except that she's in heat. And that, like a magnet, draws all the stray male dogs in the area – and our Sputnik.

And that is a problem.

They trash the gardens, they pullout the garbage, and they create a hazard on the main road – which is dangerous enough where we are. They also run the risk of catching a bullet from one or another of the armed characters up here including my husband and his brother.

So four days ago, along with Stelios who was working for me for the day, Sophia and I set out to capture the Queen and her Main Acolyte, a young chestnut brown labrador-pointer cross with a sweet face, and take them to the shelter. The husky may well be chipped as they are quite valuable here. The Acolyte was a dog no-one wanted: beautiful but whip thin and shy as a fawn. I'm sure that he had been beaten by the way that he cringed when anyone turned in his direction or attempted to approach.

I had seen Sputnik, the Acolyte, and the Queen in the dirt lot behind the cafe, so – armed with leads and some leftover hamburger – we piled into the Landrover. The dogs were there, and Sputnik ran to us with a smile: “See my new friends?” The Queen immediately went to Stelios, and we were about to get her into the car when the waitress from the cafe came out. “Where are you taking that dog?” she asked in broken Greek.

“To the shelter,” I said. “And this one, if we can catch him”

“Are they yours?” she asked.

Turns out that Cuz had claimed the Ice Queen.

“That dog is so not his,” Sophia said to me in an aside. “He just wants her because she's pretty and valuable!”

Cuz muttered something about a friend of his coming to take her and I said, with emphasis: “Cuz, she's female, and unless you keep her tied up, she's making a problem for all of us up here. I'm not going to shoot her, but Bill or Best Beloved might. Keep her on your place.”

On the way back to our house, I found the Acolyte – alone for the moment as Cuz had taken the Queen. I tried to make friends with him with a view to catching him and taking him to the shelter, but though he ate some chunks of burger from my hand, I couldn't touch him, let alone get him into the car, and I had no time to construct a trap and lure him in to safety. I had to trust that Cuz would take the husky home and that the problem would be solved.

Of course he didn't, and of course more dogs kept arriving. Then it was Bill's turn. “If it's your dog, Cuz, keep it off my place and away from my dogs. I keep finding piles of crap on my lawn...”  Cuz gave him a different story about the dog's ownership, but Bill cut him short.  "Just keep her under control."

Then last night: “Bill shot the Acolyte,” announced BB. Sophia and I exchanged pained and guilty looks. “And you'd better keep an eye on Sputnik because if Cuz doesn't keep the Husky under control, she might be next, and good shot though he is, Bill might miss. Among milling dogs, it's easy to hit the wrong one.”

Sophia immediately went to find Sputnik. “He's covered in blood!” she said.

“Well, he was close. As I said, keep an eye on him.”

This morning, Sophia went to find Sputnik to wash and feed him. He was at the cafe, sleeping curled up next to the Ice Queen. She prised them apart and carried him home: “He was crying his eyes out all the way,” she said. “The Queen was tied, and she was yipping and crying at the end of her chain, she would have followed if she could. I couldn't get all the blood off, Sputnik wouldn't eat, and as soon as he could he went back to the cafe.”

They're fine at the cafe, as long as the husky is tied or confined. She'll be out of season soon and the problem will end – for the moment. But if she is allowed to be loose and another swarm of dogs gathers, Bill is sure to shoot more of them. Strays are a real problem here, and although I do my best to take the ones that I find and can catch to a shelter – I've taken at least eight in the last year – there is no sign of a let-up.

Above pictures are not mine.  They were found on the Internet.

Pets -- for 'Gallery'

Over the years here we have had several dogs as I've mentioned elsewhere in these pages. Sputnik has been with us since we found him in June – a starveling staggering along beside the road. Since, he's  gained hugely in weight, confidence, and personality.

Stumpy, our long-cherished three-legged cat, still has no idea why we introduced this bumptious canine into his heretofore peaceful routine. And still has no time for him, rebuffing every good-natured Sputnik overture with a hiss and a slash of his remaining front leg – generally a failure as he can't keep his balance and ends up on his face.

Lucky, on the other hand, is delighted to have a playmate and takes no account of their size difference when she pummels, chases, and plays with him.

Sputnik amuses us endlessly with his snores, his outre sleeping positions, his engaging expressions. He guards our house from snakes and feral dogs, plumbers, gamekeepers, and men who come to measure for guttering. Best Beloved (in typical grumpy Cypriot fashion) still can't figure out what posessed me to stop the car and pick him up; but even he, I suspect, enjoys Sputnik from time to time.

Updates -- On All Fronts

School is really over!  Alex finished his last IGCSE yesterday at noon, and with a flying leap vaulted over the wall, yelling 'I'm free!'  We're looking around for work for him at local garden centres and restaurants, and are arranging his Provisional Driving License and a set of lessons.  He has been promised my car, if his IGCSE average was B.  Results come in at the end of August -- in the meantime we are all trying to forget about it.

Sophia finished Friday, and with a huge sigh said: 'Well that's that!  No more going back there...'  She is taking a week off before diving into her distance learning IGCSE's and hopes that she scored well enough on the exams that she just took to get into the schools for which we have applied in the UK.  The results of those come out July 4, and we will duly send them off as well as making plans for a week's visit to England at the end of September.  She is highly motivated, and I think will do well.

Leo & Theodoros baking carob cookies.

Zenon and Leo finished in the middle of last week and are having a good time.  Both have projects to work on and friends to play with, so most days see them either at friends' houses, or with friends around here.  A mate of Leo's from school was over and they were making carob cookies today -- turned out delicious!  I know that some parents dread the holidays, I thrive on them...




House works...

At long last I have persuaded Best Beloved that SOMETHING Had To Be Done About The Floors Downstairs.  When we were building, I had wanted concrete.  My dad's house in Hawaii had a concrete living room floor.  It was beautiful: a mellow golden colour with weathered brick lines to discourage cracks.  The Turkish-Cypriot house in Agios Ioannis that we rent has a concrete floor, smooth, mottled, and coloured with ochre.  I wanted something similar for here.

Trouble is, no-one knows how to do plain, polished concrete floors... Believe it or not.  And we ended up with an ugly patchwork that BB decided -- against my and a friend's strong counsel -- to paint.  Disaster:  flaking, ugly, difficult to clean.  I have been lobbying with increasing stridency for a change, and he finally caved.

The Corridor Before...

Sophia's Flaking Floor

Leo Helps Tile His Room

The Corridor During.

We chose black granite for the corridor, and grey tiles for the bedrooms.

For the last week the house has been full of misplaced furniture (as each bedroom has been done at a time), dust, and the whine of the angle-grinder.  We are almost on the home stretch.  The five bedrooms have been done -- just in time for my sister's arrival this evening.  The guest bathroom has been done with pebble panels, and now the downstairs corridor is slowly being covered with black.  I got really cold feet over the corridor:  the granite would be too dark ("It will be like descending to the Abyss down there, Manamou!"), it would show every speck of dust, it would look like crap and I would never be able to change it...  But I think it's beginning to look really nice.  The next few days will tell.



The Irish Satellite...

Will Try to Enter for Companionship...

For some reason Leo cannot get his tongue around the name 'Sputnik' and instead insists on calling our latest family member 'Spud Mick'...  But whatever we call him, the Small Golden One has morphed from a Shivering Emaciated Wreck that peed himself if we so much as looked at him into a Happy Little Being who bounces around the garden and verandah, comes (mostly) when he's called, pees and poops (mostly) in his toilet spot near the old goat shed, and stretches out through the heat of the day in a doorway to catch any available breeze.

Training -- Mili came to learn how to cope with Lucky

Training -- Leo is the most dedicated of us all

A dog trainer paid us a visit one afternoon last week and gave us some tips on training him which I implement when I take him for his walks.  Leo is is most loyal supporter -- taking him for 'potty walks' every hour of the day, cutting  up treats, and teaching him to 'sit' on command.  Lucky, of course, is wildly enthusiastic at the presence of another canine about the place, but must be very jealous to see him wandering free.  Sophia takes both dogs for a run every evening, and reports that Lucky's rambunctiousness is as ill-contained as ever, but that Sputnik, although only about one-eighth her size, is learning to hold his own.