A few days later when we were feeding the girls one evening, an older man pulled up outside, with a young girl of about 10. The man was Ramon, in his mid-60s, only just about five-foot-tall, tanned leathery skin, with slick, black, brylcreemed hair like a 1950’s film star. He wore brown trousers at least one size too big for him, held up by a belt fashioned from the string that holds bales of hay together and a smart shirt buttoned up to the top, even in the blazing heat.
He made a beeline for Lorna, and was all sweetness and light, and doe eyes. He boasted about his black hair, unlike Miguel, who he was saying is grey, and I imagine much less virile. Ramon is like an ageing lothario, with a twinkle in his eye, and a gap-toothed smile. Whenever he approaches for a little chat, he always heads straight for Lorna, unless it involves business, then it just wouldn’t do to discuss it with a woman!
Juani, his daughter, was excited by the alpacas, and was learning English at school, but the lessons so far seemed to have reached ‘Hello’, ‘Yes’ and ‘No’. She was, however, very proud of herself. It transpired that Ramon owned a large amount of land near us, with thousands of olive trees, and he got his wallet out of his trouser pocket and took out a €50 note, gesturing that it was for one of the girls. We thanked him, but said a gracious no, we needed them for breeding!
16 Two Young, Too Rural
Animal count: One dog, one feral cat, two feral kittens, one pot-bellied pig, two alpacas (Cassandra and Black Dancer)
All too soon we had reached the day before Frankie and Chris were due to leave. For the previous week the atmosphere had become increasingly tense, as both mum and daughter began to dread saying goodbye. Even though by this time we all agreed that the right decision had been made, Frankie was 19, and this was a pivotal moment in her life, probably even more so than just moving out of home in the UK. She was flying off to start her own life and make her way in the world. For that last week Chris and I did our best to keep our heads down.
In the evening, we decided to visit a local bar in town that we had heard was used by the few English families who live here, and the owner even speaks a little English too. When we pulled up outside the bar, and parked the car, there was a group of Spanish teenagers outside who proceeded to stare directly at us, obviously noticing our Englishness (Chris’s Arsenal football shirt probably didn’t help). Being teenagers themselves, this raised the heckles of both Frankie and Chris, and under her breath I could hear Frankie saying, “What are you looking at!”
In England, staring at each other is considered a challenge, especially to teenagers, but here it is just part of their nature. The Spanish stare at everybody, even their countrymen, particularly the older people who like nothing more than standing and watching a workman at the roadside. The old Spanish men can wile away many an hour watching somebody working, either on a building site or working on the roads, sometimes chatting to them and no doubt putting the world to rights. Sometimes, just watching in silence!
Once inside the bar we were greeted by Antonio and his latest female companion. This time the girl was young, very young in fact, and rather vocal, no doubt encouraged by more than a couple of alcoholic beverages, and she was hanging from Antonio’s neck. He tilted his head to one side and raised his eyebrows to me as if to say, “What can I do?” The girl was introduced to us as Petra, and although she spoke a little English, she seemed to be Russian or Eastern European.
Petra seemed to be quite fun, so when Antonio visited the bathroom, we were talking about him and I jokingly said, “You know he’s 55 don’t you?”
Petra’s eyes widened, “Fack off, iz ‘ee?” and “Facking 45 ‘ee tell me,” as profanities spewed from her mouth like a 20-stone trucker. I was hysterical; I felt as though it was just a little payback for his previous behaviour. She stormed off towards the gents’ toilet and literally dragged him out, demanding that he show her his passport and prove he was only 45. It was hilarious for us, but Antonio was very unhappy and left immediately. At least it had gone some way to lighten the mood for the evening and we were able to enjoy a pleasant meal together before heading home at about 10 o’clock to finish off the packing and have a reasonably early night, before setting off for the airport the following morning.
On our return to the Olive Mill, outside our gate were the two most stunning, most enormous Spanish mastiff dogs, lying across the road. One had a long coat and was white in colour, almost like a large retriever, and the other had short, black hair. Both were beautiful dogs and they sat proudly outside our fence, until Chris got out of the car to open the gate. The dogs approached him and were extremely friendly. They were all over him, jumping up on him, and one even had his paws on his shoulders, licking him and being affectionate. We drove in through the gate and managed, somehow, to keep the dogs out, thinking that, as they were so beautiful, they must belong to somebody, and surely they would make their own way home.
After two hours, they were still there when I went to lock the gate for the night. Maybe, I hoped, they would be gone by morning.
We had to leave just after six o’clock the following morning, and as we left the house it was freezing cold: there was ice on the car and the alpacas’ water had frozen over. Outside, these two dogs were still sitting in the road, oblivious to the cold. Once again they were friendly and wanted our attention as we loaded the car. Maybe they were trying to tell Frankie and Chris to stay?
As we drove off, they reassumed their position on the road, and I said to Lorna, “If they are still there tonight, when we get home, we must try and find the owner, surely they must live somewhere around here.”
It gave us a slight distraction from the inevitable tension of the morning, and as we made the three-hour journey down the motorway with hardly a word spoken, the only sounds being occasional, involuntary sniffles coming from the direction of Frankie or Lorna.
At the airport we queued up for check-in, and decided that as there were visits booked both to the UK for Lorna, and for the kids back to us in the summer, we should say a quick goodbye at the front of the queue and not draw it out too long.
As we reached our turn in the queue, the lady behind the counter weighed the bags.
“I’m afraid these bags are overweight, both are over 35kg and the limit is only 23kg,” said the girl apologetically. “There is going to be a charge of €150 before we can let you on, I’m afraid.”
Frankie burst in to tears, and this tipped Lorna over the edge and they fell into each other’s arms sobbing.
It was hard for Chris and I to watch, so I said, “Okay, don’t worry, I’ll go and sort this out, you two wait here. Come on Chris, come with me.”
A few minutes later we returned, and it was time to say goodbye.
Lorna was in a state, Frankie was in a state, and Chris and I didn’t know where to look. We all gave each other a hug and off they went. Lorna has always found goodbyes difficult, but that was probably the hardest one ever.
Thinking we should get going, get home and try and relax, I ushered Lorna towards the car park, but she stopped me in my tracks and told me to sit down on a nearby bench, where she told me that she had arranged for my Mum and brother to visit as a surprise for my birthday, which was the following day, but they weren’t arriving until 9 pm that night, so we had to wait a full 12 hours. We managed to dwindle away the day and collected my family that evening. By then we were exhausted, physically and mentally, and we still had a three-hour drive back up the motorway.
As we approached the house Lorna said, “What are we going to do if the dogs are still here? How will we find the owners?”
“Hmm, I don’t know, I had forgotten about them to be honest, let’s just see if they are there first.”
When we arrived back, at just about midnight, there was no sign of the dogs. It was like a metaphor, Frankie and Chris had gone and so had the dogs. To this day we have never seen those two beautiful dogs around here, we don’t know where they came from or where they went, but, they had gone!
T
here was something that we had never considered before we moved. Would we be able to cope with, not only the isolation of living in such a rural location, but also each other, 24 hours a day, seven days a week? Over the next few months we had numerous occasions where Lorna would be in tears, and I would not know what to say or do. She was desperately missing her children, plus, to put it very simply, she was missing talking to people. Her job as a dance teacher was very social and meant lots of interaction both with parents and children.
On more than one occasion I asked, “Do you want to go home?”
“No, no,” Lorna always insisted, but each little thing that happened to us ground away at our dream that little bit more.
17 Carlos
“Okay, I’m going into town to get some medicine for you. Just stay in bed and don’t get up, I won’t be long,” Lorna said as she walked out of the door.
I was ill in the bed, with a touch of man-flu, and feeling pretty bad. On her return I heard the gate open, followed shortly after by the front door.
Lorna had a sad look on her face. “I got your medicine, but when I went out, Miguel was there, and he said there was a dog, looking a bit thin and hiding in the bush. I saw him, but he was very nervous, so I left him there and went to town. But he is still there now, and I don’t know what to do. Up until now, we have been so good about not taking in every stray we’ve seen, but I don’t think I can leave him outside.” She was rambling a bit, and I could tell she wanted to go out and see the dog.
“Why don’t you take him some water and a little food. Once he has got his strength back, maybe he will go home?” I said.
“Okay, I’ll try that.”
After about ten minutes, Lorna returned.
“He wolfed down that food, the poor thing is starving. He’s really thin too, and I think he’s injured. He keeps holding his paw in the air. When I walked towards him outside, I could hear this thumping, and I couldn’t work it out, but it was his tail bashing the ground.”
“Is he still outside in the bush?”
“No, he followed me in. He’s lying down in the courtyard outside, he won’t go back out. Why don’t you come and see him?”
So I dragged myself from my sick bed, and went out to see the dog. I was greeted by a very nervous, ginger and white, bony little thing. And sure enough he was holding his paw up and, to be honest, he looked in a bad way.
“Oh dear, look at him,” I said sadly. I looked at the paw. “There doesn’t seem to be much wrong with his paw though, but look, he’s got a tight chain around his neck. Let’s get that off.”
I had to use pliers to free the chain. Although we had been strong to date, I knew immediately we were going to keep this dog. The fatal mistake is feeding them. Once you do that, they look at you like you are their world and it is very hard to send them away again.
“But, he’s a stray so he can sleep outside. He will be fine, he’s used to it.” I said.
“Okay,” Lorna smiled ruefully.
The next day we had some exciting news as Penny phoned to say that Bermuda, our white girl, had given birth to a healthy baby boy. We made the drive down to Ronda to see this new arrival. When we saw the cria, he was all legs, so we decided to name him Basil, after Basil Fawlty. It was a really lovely day for us holding that new baby and Bermuda, the girl with the fearsome reputation, was an amazing mother. We were starting to have a lovely time. This, however, was all about to change.
I have found somewhere to live! After a few days of trawling the countryside, since running away from those men with the guns, finally someone has taken pity on me. Today, a lovely lady found me outside her house. There was a man too, but he was on a big machine and it made me nervous.
The lady brought me out some water, and a little food, so I followed her in. She seemed kind, so I wasn’t scared. There is another dog at the house, but she seems to be quite old, and a little bit grumpy, but she didn’t try to hurt me. After a while, a man came out, and he took off the chain around my neck, which was good because it was starting to hurt me. The man cleaned me with some water, and then gave me some more food. My sad look seems to be working. I tried to follow them into their house, but the man made me stay outside, but at least there I feel safe, and I managed to have a good sleep. I hope they let me stay here.
Carlos
18 Black Dancer
Animal count : Two dogs (Geri and Carlos), one feral cat, two feral kittens, one pot-bellied pig and two alpacas.
During May a team of shearers came over to Spain, organised by Peter, and visited the farms of the alpaca owners in Andalucía. The team was from Australia, and spent the summer shearing, travelling throughout Europe.
To our horror and surprise, when they turned over Black Dancer she was suffering from a terrible skin condition all over her stomach and the tops of her legs. We felt terrible that we hadn’t noticed, but it wasn’t something we had been told to check and how often do you look under an animal? We were advised to get some special skin treatment from the UK, which of course we ordered immediately.
A week or so after the shearing, we were feeding the alpacas one evening when Black Dancer began to cough and splutter. Sometimes this happens, if they eat too fast or have too big a mouthful, but normally it clears itself after a couple of minutes.
This was different; it didn’t clear, and she started to cough up her green rumen everywhere. We called Manuel the vet, and I went and collected him. This was going to be his first alpaca experience and it was getting dark too. By the time we got back to the house it was completely black, so we had to drive our small hire car into the alpaca paddock so that we could use the headlights for Manuel to see to work on Black Dancer.
Manuel tried to manipulate her throat to try and clear any obstruction, but when this failed he tried to use a long tube to insert in her throat in the hope this would clear it. Eventually this seemed to work, but Manuel was concerned. We told him about the skin condition and he felt that she was a very unwell animal, and we should call him in the morning.
After a terrible night’s sleep for us, Black Dancer seemed a little brighter. We spoke to Manuel and he said he was still very wary and would give us some products to use on her skin to help her in the meantime. He wanted her to be as comfortable as possible, but he was still concerned that she was a very sick animal. Two days passed and she started to eat a little more and we felt she was improving slightly, slowly but slightly.
One morning I got up and looked out of the window and shouted, “Oh shit!”
Lorna said, “What?”
“Something on the ground, a baby or something, but it might be dead.”
My stomach had dropped and nerves and adrenalin were shooting through me. There was something on the ground covered in blood. We had heard about a few possible birthing problems, and I was due to be going to England the following day for a course on alpaca birthing. I grabbed some scissors and a clean towel and ran down to the paddock.
When I got there it didn’t look good. I found a small baby, still in the birthing sac, not moving. I split the bag but the tiny baby inside was dead. It was our first experience of an alpaca birth and it was not a good one.
Our research had shown that alpacas generally have very easy births, and do not need much in the way of intervention; however this one was not to be. A couple of years down the line I can look back and know that Black Dancer aborted that baby, probably due to being very sick herself. Animals and nature have a way of dealing with problems and she couldn’t have coped if the baby had survived. Her body was giving her the best chance of getting better.
We spoke to a number of different people and the general consensus was that we should get an autopsy on the foetus. This meant keeping it overnight, to our horror, in a freezer bag, sealed in our fridge. The following morning, Lorna would have the horrendous job of taking me to the train station, and then taking the baby to Manuel to organise the autopsy. I felt terrible leaving Lorna to cope with all this but we had paid for the c
ourse, and now more than ever, we felt that we needed the knowledge. I was sure Lorna could cope.
We left early the following morning. Although it was dark, Black Dancer did not look in great shape. Lorna said she would collect Manuel on her way back from the station. A few hours later I reached Gatwick, turned on the phone, and immediately called Lorna.
“How’s things?” I asked.
“Not great,” she replied. “To be honest I’m not sure she is going to survive. It took me hours to sort out the baby’s autopsy: I had to carry him around Montoro in that bloody Lidl bag for hours. By the time I got home with Manuel, Black Dancer didn’t look good.”
I was distraught to think that Lorna was having to deal with this on her own. I was completely out of my comfort zone, and powerless to help.
I managed to telephone Penny and explain what was going on, and to his eternal credit, Peter dropped everything and drove the three hours to Montoro to help and support Lorna until I could return. In actual fact, Peter had arrived while Lorna was taking Manuel back to his surgery in town and, when she arrived home, Peter had scaled the fence and was inside attending to Black Dancer. I will never be able to thank him enough for that.
For my part, when I reached my Mum’s house in the UK, I fell into her arms and cried like a baby. I hadn’t cried for years, and God only knows what my Mum thought, but I just didn’t know what to do. Once I had got my head together I managed to change my return flight and went straight back the following morning. Lorna collected me from the station and told me how amazing both Peter and Manuel had been. We had a routine of injections and treatments for Black Dancer. Lorna had it all written down.
Before now we hadn’t really comprehended that we would need to learn how to administer injections to animals. It is not as easy as you think, there are different ways to give different drugs and you have to be strong, plus you have to consider carefully where that thermometer needs to go when taking a temperature! We were thrust into this by events that were unfolding around us. Although I knew the situation was bad, I felt a bit better at least knowing I was there to help, and we would get through it together.
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