Dexter Dog Diary, Week Three, Friday & Saturday
Friday, (cuma, 24 mart, 2010)
I feel quite frisky this morning: could it be something to do with the little tablet that she slips into my treats? I have to give her credit: she knows my weakness for cheese; she cuts two pieces; one gets the little pill but I never know which one! Crafty! Or, could my joie de vivre be due to the Rescue Cream she has been putting on my armpit? Apparently, I was barking in my sleep last night… Now we are out walking in the morning sun. The overnight dew has been much less on most days for the last week or so, and some of the spring flowers are disappearing.
After breakfast, he checks to see if the repaired guitar is OK, loads it in the car and we all trundle over to Remzi’s bar for line-dancing. Not me! Oh no, and not for him, either. Come to think of it, it would be a bit complicated for a dog. We load-up a new flagon of water from Saraç and set off for King’s Bar where Paul (the bar proprietor, not of Pam and Paul fame) seems pleased with the transformed instrument as he relaxes in the morning sunshine on the front steps. He looks very tired: I hope he takes a break before the summer season starts.
We get back home and X does a bit of work – can’t remember what – then dashes off to collect Y for another outing to the other side of Girne. When they get back, it is way past my tea time; so I am even more pleased to see them than usual. My main thought is for my tea, but I do get a distinct whiff of another dog and several different cats from their clothing. As soon as tea is done, we are off walking: this time bearing left out of the gate to pick up the track round the “mountain”. We get to the first ford and again – but earlier than before - I automatically set off up the hill to avoid the bovine brigade. For a moment, I feel a bit of a dope because they are teasing me about the absence of cows – bless their little hearts! We keep to the track all the way round the base of the mountain to the Bahçeli road and, where it cuts into the mountain, are forced to use the road for a while before we can climb up to one of the old terrace paths. When we get round to the new villas, there is a repeat of the unseemly scrambling of the other day as we pick our way through the builder’s rubble onto the old track and follow that pretty much straight down to the apartment. Another quiet evening; and we all turn-in early.
Saturday, (cumartesi, 24 mart, 2010)
My suspicions turn out, eventually, to be correct. It is time for Wiggie and Co to return – but not for a good few hours yet. After breakfast, the Axes are frantically cleaning: nothing is spared! For a while, it is pandemonium and chaos but, by lunch time, everything is done and we have a pleasant lunch of bits-and-pieces on the roof. I say, “we”, because in a few moments of weakness, I am proffered some human treats which I gratefully guzzle. All of a sudden, we are in the car and off to Elaine and Pete’s at Arapköy.
The main road inland climbs high into the Beşparmak foothills towards Five Finger Mountain. Some say that three of the fingers are scheduled to be quarried away to leave a friendly greeting for the Greek Cypriots in the south. I am glad that this is what passes for joke, because the mountain is breathtakingly beautiful as it is. I can smell the hint of a canine colony and remember that Kyrenia Animal Rescue is based at the southern foot of the mountain. We are headed for the other side of the valley to the south. There are two roads to Arapkoy: the first is a bit bumpy in places and goes past “Chelsea Village” – apparently built by the owner of the London football club. We take the second road which bends back upon itself as it cuts into the hillside.
Deep in the steep Amaranta valley to our right are the skeleton-homes evidencing a notorious rip-off. Someone said that Gary Robb (by name and nature, perhaps) has not actually stolen the money people paid him for their villas; but that the banks or government will not release the funds. Since Mr Robb was extradited from his refuge in Thailand back to the UK, he has been a guest of Her Majesty, due to his admitted drug dealing. So, one can imagine that his finances are a little bit complex! Wherever the money may be, the skeletal homes are in the valley – unfinished – and now, perhaps, unwanted or unattainable; a very sad and sorry sight.
The atmosphere changes entirely as we enter the village: there are modern houses along the approaches and the neat and tidy cemetery on the right before we come to the old houses of the village centre where we turn right along a ridge which separates two shallow valleys. We turn right, onto a site-road in front of a new development, then right again to a line of villas with Elaine and Pete’s somewhere in the middle.
The goats – masses of them – are just coming down the site road as we turn off. They follow us and spread out to the left across the lush pasture opposite the villas. Elaine and Pete are pleased to see us – but not so pleased to see the goats. Now, I think it is asking for trouble to plant anything edible where goats can get at it – legitimately or not. Dogs are omnivorous, as I am always reminding all humans, but goats make us look choosey. They don’t just eat “anything” – they eat “everything”!
I have no idea what the cause: whether it is the heat; the niff of the goats; the car-ride so soon after the un-accustomed lunchtime treats; but, for a few minutes I feel quite poorly and have to liberate my lunch on the living-room floor. Everybody is very understanding; the floor is all tiles, like most floors in this part of the world, so the cleaning-up operation is swift and efficient. Sadly, the sympathy dries-up equally quickly.
We all go outside to inspect the new fence at the back which has already been successfully gale and goat tested. Pete takes the opportunity of a ukulele lesson from X while Y disappears with Elaine, shortly to reappear in a dress. This is something that X, himself, rarely sees. They all agree; the colourful little number is perfect. Before we know it, the visit is coming to a close amid mentions of “Dexter’s tea-time” and I am wondering why my tea cannot be served here and now; because I am starving!
We get back home for tea and a quick walk then, as darkness falls, the Axes load-up the car; bid me “farewell”; curse Sonny for doing a bunk, then depart.
It is very late when I hear a car and familiar, soft Geordie tones. Here they are, exhausted but happy; accompanied by Sonny. Civilisation will reign in Bahçeli once more.