So why the horror? Well, if disturbed, the caterpillar sheds its hairs. The hairs cause painful rashes, or much worse. If inhaled, the tiny hairs can be lethal. An inquisitive dog unfortunate enough to inhale them needs to be rushed to the vet within 40 minutes. Children and adults can also suffer severe reactions, including anaphylactic shock. Even walking under trees housing the bundles can be dangerous as the hairs are often airborne.
Clearly these critters are not to be messed with. I read with horror and huge sympathy the comments people had left:
written by John Evans
My Yorkshire has just come in contact with the Caterpillars and it's not looking good as her tongue is inflamed and she is passing blood. We had her in the vet and they said the next 48 hours will decide if she is to survive.
written by Anne Cliford-Banks
My five month old labrador puppy has lost nearly half his tongue which dropped off and is now suffering the effects of all the drugs he has taken. He has devloped two large lumps on his side. He is ok but don't under estimate the effect of theese caterpilars.
written by Raquel
Thank you for this info. I live in the Algarve Portugal and work at a local vet. Unfortunately we have to treat many dogs and occasionally cats that have been affected by the caterpillar. Their tongues go neucrotic and sometimes the end may drop off. We have to wait a few days to check that the animal can still eat and drink with the remaining part of the tongue.
The last comment on the website made me smile simply because it seemed to me that this particular guy had had a very lucky escape.
written by vox
I came across thousands (and I'm not exaggerating) of these in Menorca last week. Walking up the sand, on the handrails, on the wooden walk-way and squashed underfoot in their thousands. There were the nests in the nearby pine trees as you described and, looking at the photos above they appear to be the same. However if they are the same then I've been remarkably lucky. I spent ages picking them up and arranging them to get a good photo. I also was curious to know what they did when you moved them from their chosen trail.
As if these horror stories weren’t enough, the pine trees themselves are devastated by these furry fiends and often die. The next time we hiked up the mountain, I examined the area much more carefully. The caterpillars had gone, but sure enough, we could see the white bundles dangling from the trees, just as the article described. And amongst the clump of pine trees stood dead ones, already stripped by the caterpillars. We resolved to warn the villagers and keep the Ufarte twins away from the area.
Many men are complete babies when it comes to sickness or visits to the dentist, and Joe is no exception. His tooth was still jagged from biting the Baby Jesus on January 5th, and it took all my nagging to propel him to the dentist. I made the appointment and we drove down the mountain, Joe complaining the whole time.
“Fancy putting plastic figures into a cake! I bet Spanish dentists depend on after-Christmas business. I bet people break their teeth on those figures all the time.”
“Probably.”
“You know I hate going to the dentist, but still you’re making me go. I’ve got used to that tooth now, I don’t mind if it’s broken.”
“We’re here now.”
The waiting-room was half full: people sat staring into space or idly flicking magazines. A small boy tapped on the glass of an aquarium, trying to attract the fishes’ attention. We found a seat and sat down, Joe still complaining.
“I don’t need that tooth anyway, it’s right at the back. I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss.”
“The dentist is just looking at it today, then he’ll decide what’s best to be done.”
“Humph! I hate going to the dentist. I hate it when he gets up all close, and peers into your mouth. And those drills...”
“Nobody likes going to the dentist. It’s just one of those things...”
I could sense even the other patients were getting irritated by Joe’s constant moaning. The small boy tore his eyes away from the fish-tank and stared at Joe, round-eyed. Perhaps he couldn’t believe an adult could behave so badly, so much like an annoying child. Joe was speaking English, but the language of whinge is universally understood.
At last the surgery door opened and the dental assistant stood there with a clip-board. She was young and attractive, dressed in a white uniform and checking her list. We could see past her into the surgery where the dentist was busy preparing for the next patient. Both Joe and I saw at a glance that the dentist was female, blonde, good-looking and probably twenty-five years younger than Joe.
“Señor Twead? The dentist will see you now,” said the assistant.
Joe stopped moaning, looked at me, then at the assistant, then at the dentist beyond. He rose from his seat and trotted into the surgery like an obedient pony. I heaved a sigh of relief. The little boy’s eyes and mine met across the room and I sensed we’d both been expecting Joe to put up more of a fight.
Fifteen minutes later, the door opened. Joe backed out.
“I can’t apologise enough!” he was saying, waving his arms. “I honestly didn’t know!”
“Please do not worry, señor Twead, you are forgiven already,” said the attractive dentist, laughing.
“Please believe me, I had no idea what I was doing.”
“Señor Twead, it really doesn’t matter, it was a genuine mistake.” The dentist was still smiling and her assistant nodded in agreement.
Once again, I locked eyes with the little boy. His jaw had dropped open, and so had mine. His name was called next and his mother dragged him away, but even as he walked, the little boy’s head looked over his shoulder, still staring at Joe, open-mouthed.
“What have you done?” I said furiously as soon as Joe and I were alone.
“It wasn’t my fault, honestly.” Joe snapped the seat-belt together and avoided my eyes.
“What did you do?”
“It was a simple mistake...”
“Get on with it!”
“Well, you know how I hate going to the dentist and I was all in a fluster. Then the dentist turns out to be a gorgeous creature. It all made me a bit, you know, anxious.”
“So what did you do?”
“Well, I sat in the chair with the assistant on one side of me and the dentist on the other. She starts poking about in my mouth - you know how I hate all that...”
“Go on.”
“So whenever the dentist hurt me or I felt uncomfortable, I’d just squeeze the arms of the chair. (pause) Except I was too nervous to notice that my chair had no arms. I was resting my arms on their legs and squeezing their knees.”
“Didn’t they say anything?”
“No, the dentist said she knew from my record card that I was a difficult patient and she just wanted to finish with as little stress as possible.”
“What, all that time? You squeezed their knees for the whole check-up?”
“Pretty much. I just rested my whole arm along their thighs and squeezed their knees when the going got rough. I squeezed very hard.”
I was laughing by now. “I can’t believe they didn’t say anything! When are you going back to get the tooth fixed?”
“Next week, but I’m going to see a different dentist. I can’t face her again. I have to see a different dentist.”
Joe did get his tooth fixed the next week, but by the same lady dentist, because no others were available. He apologised again, lay back in the chair and clasped his hands very firmly together in his lap.
It was during February that a new Spanish word entered our vocabulary. The word was grua, meaning a crane. Not the large long-necked wading bird with long thin legs, but the mechanical sort - the machine used for lifting heavy objects.
The foundations of The Monstrosity were now complete, to our relief. Mechanical diggers had tunnelled into the mountainside for weeks, vibrating the ground and making the plates clatter on my kitchen shelf. The Monstrosity began to rise until one day, a m
assive grua was brought into the village. This was no mean feat, as the road into El Hoyo is narrow with tight bends. I remembered our own removal van arriving five years before, and how it had reversed into the village fountain and destroyed it.
The erection and positioning of the crane took a whole day and required the expertise of two dozen men. I was full of admiration. Constructing it reminded me of the Meccano kit my younger brother used to play with back in the 60’s. For those too young to remember, Wikipedia describes it perfectly: “Meccano is a model construction system comprising re-usable metal strips, plates, angle girders, wheels, axles and gears, with nuts and bolts to connect the pieces. It enables the building of working models and mechanical devices.”
Except our grua was gigantic and towered over the village.
The crane towered over the village
Soon it was swinging concrete blocks and bricks from place to place, high over our heads. Sometimes we’d be sitting in the garden and a great shadow would hover above us, blotting out the sun, another great load dangling in an arc over us. It was most unnerving, and set Joe off on another moaning fest, but not for long.
21 Cranes
Fried Chorizo with Apple and Cider
“For goodness sake! I’m sick of that blasted crane! Can’t a man sit in his own garden without that thing swinging about above him every two minutes?” Joe gave his groin a vigorous scratch, a sure sign of his irritation.
I tried to placate him, “It won’t be for long. The Monstrosity is growing really fast.”
I had other things on my mind and was not thinking about the crane or listening to Joe’s complaints. My old college friends, Anna and Andy, were coming to stay for a week. I hadn’t seen them for years, and was really looking forward to their visit. I only hoped the weather would stay fine, as the mountains had still not recovered from the weeks of rain.
How the time had flown since Andy first made contact before Christmas! We’d been exchanging messages on Facebook and I’d just received another from him.
February 24, 2010
Vicky,
When is a good time to call you , time is flying by...Are you still expecting us on the 22nd March? Can we bring you anything from the UK etc etc.
Life is very hectic at the moment...we would both just like to get off the roundabout and just relax..
Hope all is well will phone soon.
Love
Andrew and Anna XX
February 25, 2010
Hi Andy and Anna,
Of course we're still expecting you! Looking forward to it. We've been rained on for 10 solid weeks now. (So glad you didn't come earlier in the year!) There were terrible floods and mudslides, and houses have collapsed, even in our village. All Spanish roofs leak, including ours, we've discovered.
Can't think of anything for you to bring for us, apart from yourselves, but will give it thought.
Don't bring anything posh to wear, there are no posh places to go. Recommend jeans. Nights will be cold, but hopefully it'll be hot during the day.
Rest assured, life is very slow here, so hopefully you'll get a chance to unwind and chill...
love,
Vicky and Joe xx
“Come on,” I said to Joe, after sending the email. “Let’s take a walk round the village. Blow the cobwebs away.”
So we walked down our street, past the square, past the construction work, and out of the other side of the village. Marcia waved from her shop doorway, and Geronimo and Uncle Felix nodded from their bench in the shade. The construction workers greeted us politely, and I hoped Joe wasn’t going to take the opportunity to complain about the crane. Of course he couldn’t resist it.
“I wish you’d stop dangling that crane over our garden,” Joe grumbled to the workers in general. They looked faintly surprised. I smiled apologetically and hurried him away by the elbow before they could reply.
We stopped on the bridge that spanned the gully at the entrance to the village and looked down. As a result of the continuous weeks of rain, water coursed at the bottom of the gully, but the level had noticeably dropped.
“Not so much water down there now,” said Joe, leaning over the hand-rail and looking down the steep sides. “It’ll be dry by May. I think I’ll take a photo. Remind us of the time there was actually a river down there.”
“Mind you don’t drop the...”
Too late. The camera slipped out of his hand and tumbled down the gully, bouncing off tussocks of grass and vegetation on its perilous journey.
“Oh noooo...” Joe groaned. Miserably, we watched the camera plummet before finally settling on a ledge, about two feet above the water level.
“Well, that’s done it!” I was really annoyed. Joe was always lecturing me to use the camera wrist-strap, but he hadn’t bothered to practice what he preached, and now the camera was lost for ever.
“I’ll climb down and get it,” said Joe.
“Don’t be ridiculous! Those sides are far too steep. We’ll just have to claim off the insurance.”
We were still staring down glumly when we heard a call behind us.
“¡Señor! Señor? You have dropped something?” It was the foreman of the construction team.
“Yes, we stupidly dropped our camera down the gully.”
“We? You dropped it, I didn’t!” I muttered.
The foreman joined us at the hand-rail and peered down. “Ah yes, I see it. You are lucky it did not land in the water.”
By now, Marcia, Uncle Felix, Geronimo and his three dogs had joined our party and were also staring down into the gully.
“¡Madre mía!” said Marcia, gripping the hand-rail with her ancient claw-like hands. “That is a long way down.”
“You’ll never get that back,” said Geronimo.
“I agree,” I said. “It’s too far down to reach.”
“No,” said the foreman, “I think we can get that for you.” He looked over his shoulder and called, “Nicolas! Over here! Do you think we could get that camera down there?”
Nicolas, the crane operator, walked over and looked down. “¡Sin problema! No problem!” he said. The silver camera, resting on its bed of grass, sparkled in the sunlight. “No problem!”
“You’re not going to lower the bucket down there, are you?” asked Joe, astonished.
“Yes, it will be easy.” Nicolas was already twiddling with the knobs and levers on the giant remote control in his hands. The crane, as though it had a life of its own, swung its arm round, the massive bucket swaying to a halt and resting on the ground a few feet from where we were standing. “One of the men will go down and get it for you.”
“Oh, I don’t want to put anyone to any trouble...”
“No problem,” said Nicolas again. “Unless you want to go down yourself?” His eyes were twinkling.
“In the crane bucket?”
“Yes. I’ll lower you until you can reach the camera.”
“Joe...” I eyed the bucket, the chain hanging slack. I wasn’t convinced this was such a good idea.
“Me go down? Crikey! I’d love to! What do I have to do?”
“You must stand in the bucket with your knees slightly bent. Hold onto the centre chain. Don’t worry, I will move it very slowly.”
“This is going to be great!” said Joe to me. “Take photos!”
“I can’t.”
“Oh, no, of course you can’t...” Joe was already heading for the bucket. He stepped in and held the chain, grinning excitedly. “Okay! Up, up and away! I’m ready to go!”
“¡Madre mía!” said Marcia.
Uncle Felix narrowed his eyes and shook his head. Geronimo took a quick gulp from his bottle of beer. Nicolas fiddled with the controls, and slowly the chain tightened until the bucket lifted gently off the ground. The crane’s arm swung round, carrying the bucket with Joe in it and sweeping them in an arc to hover over the gully.
“¡Madre mía!” said Marcia, clutching her heart with one hand.
“Okay!
Down now, down, down. A little to the left, down slightly...” The foreman had taken charge. “A bit more to the right - down a little more...and...STOP!”
The bucket stopped, swaying slightly but perfectly poised alongside the camera. It was an easy matter for Joe to reach out and seize the camera.
“I’ve got it!” came the triumphant crow from the depths of the gully.
I turned to the foreman and spoke quietly. “Um... Could you, perhaps, just kind of...sort of...um...accidentally dip the bucket into the water? Just a tiny bit? I think Joe deserves to be taught a lesson.” I should have been ashamed of myself.
The foreman glanced at me briefly, understanding and amusement in his eyes.
“I think that could be arranged...” he said. Then, “Nicolas! Swing forward two metres, then lower three metres.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure!” said the foreman and I in unison.
“Oy!” said the voice from the gully. “Pull me up! I’ve got my feet wet!”
“¡Madre mía!” said Marcia.
“Oh dear!” I said softly to the foreman.
The foreman, smiling now, issued instructions to Nicolas until Joe was safely back on terra firma beside us.
“That was great!” said Joe. “I really enjoyed that!”
“I am sorry you got your feet wet,” said the foreman. Nicolas gave him a sideways glance.
“That’s okay,” said Joe cheerfully. “Accidents happen. At least we got our camera back, I thought we’d lost it for ever.”
We thanked the foreman and Nicolas and walked home. Joe didn’t complain about his soaked feet at all, and we were delighted to find that the camera was undamaged. I made coffee and we sat in the garden, watching the crane at work, arcing over us.
“Bloody marvelous things, those cranes,” said Joe, leaning back on his garden chair with his hands clasped behind his head, staring up. “Remarkable inventions, I’ve always said so.”
March 7, 2010
Vicky,
Slow reply, sorry but things here are pretty hectic. Anna and I have dinner suits and cocktail dresses at the ready.... seriously though, we are so sorry that the weather has been so bad, it must have been terrible for the villages that were badly affected.
Two Old Fools - Olé! Page 14
