I wonder whether you are a cat person or a dog person? If you’re a dog person, could it be that you might share striking similarities with your canine companion? I have short hair and am mischievous, just like a Beagle – oh no, it’s true!
Back at the farmhouse, unlike the previous owners, who had practically created Noah’s ark on the land with animals ranging from pigs, hens, and rabbits, I had decided the only animal I wanted to roam the land was Beagle Ben. But that didn’t stop other animals from wandering the land.
So, I pondered, why do javali (wild boar) only appear at night? Where do snakes make their home? Why do mongooses appear and then suddenly disappear? Why are the sounds of awakening birds so loud that they become your alarm clock? Why do butterflies envelop you? Why do eagles circle above, then go out of sight? Why, when nature comes together, does it feel so unworldly that it takes your breath away? Then you realise the beauty of all these creatures surrounds you, as if it were ‘Animal Farm’.
The first day of April arrived, and the foolishness began. During lockdown, Paulo, my Portuguese neighbour, had become quasi-dependent on our friendship. I also valued his company and support on the land. However, we all have our boundaries, yet the farm doesn’t have any boundaries. Anyone or any animal can come and go as they please.
The next morning was a warm, welcoming, wonderful Portuguese start to the day. Then Paulo appeared at the farmhouse door, without invitation, as had unfortunately become the norm. Paulo asked, “What are we going to do on the land today?” I replied, “Nothing, as my friend Trevor (The Fox) and I are going to build a stone path alongside the stream.” On hearing this news, Paulo turned away and strode back up the track, his head held high, cursing as he went.
As Trevor and I began carving out the path, I quickly realised this involved physical labour. I had never shied away from the hard work of the mind, but my body wasn’t used to this. Trevor became the teacher, looked over, and shouted, “You’re making work for yourself!” I shot back, “Then tell me how not to! He paused, then said the wisest words, “Work with the land, and the land will work for you.” Then, just like that, the work became easier because instead of trying to make a perfect path, the path started to work for us. In the same way that nature always makes things natural.
Each day as the work continued, Paulo could be seen observing our progress, then disappearing. I wasn’t too concerned because after a year of daily visits, the break was a welcome change. When Trevor laid the final stone, we stood back and admired what we’d built, congratulating ourselves, the way men do! It was at that moment Paulo reappeared. “Good work,” he said, his tone disingenuous. Then, with a glint of pride, he added, “Follow me. I have something to show you.”
As Paulo led us across the land and onto the lower terraces, shapes began to appear in the distance. Step by step, the structures became clearer. Then Paulo stopped, spread his arms wide, and announced with the pride of a man who had just discovered civilisation: “Welcome to Egypt!”
It transpired that whilst Trevor and I had been building the stone path, Paulo had been constructing a collection of miniature stone pyramids. No explanation was offered. None was needed. Whether it was dejection, wounded pride, or perhaps he wanted to be a Pharaoh. But one thing was for sure: I certainly didn’t want to be his Queen Nefertiti! My thoughts turned, as they often do in bizarre situations, to the question: “What would the Queen Mother say?” So, I said, “Fabulous!” and returned to the farmhouse at pace!
The following week, Paulo resurfaced at the farmhouse door, low profile apparently over. “Bom dia,” I said. He returned the greeting with a nod, then got straight to the point. “I have a gift for you.” My instincts, instinctively, told me something was off.
“The gift is …” he began but was abruptly cut off by a sudden commotion from the patio. Instantly, Beagle Ben was off like a shot. Paulo and I exchanged a glance and gave chase — only to find Ben in full pursuit of two very startled sheep! Paulo was the gift that kept on giving.
As the days passed, the sheep became an integral part of the landscape. Each morning, Beagle Ben would hurl himself after Heidi and Heather around the farmhouse building as if qualifying for pole position in a Formula 1 race. The chase never lasted long. Age and arthritis would eventually remind him of his limitations, and he would retire to the sidelines, watching with quiet admiration as the sheep grazed across the land.
Heidi and Heather were inseparable. They moved as one, slept side by side, and regarded each other with a warmth that went well beyond the merely pastoral. I became convinced they were lesbian sheep!
Beagle Ben, meanwhile, had always been unambiguously gay — a product, I always felt, of nurture rather than nature. His musical taste said it all. His beloved artist was Barbra Streisand, and his favourite album was ‘Love Is the Answer’. He had, it must be said, exquisite taste. That evening, Beagle Ben was at my side at the fireside when he gave a deep outward breath, and it was not a pleasant aroma. I thought ‘strange’ but didn’t give it another thought.
Then one day, pottering around the house, I realised Beagle Ben was nowhere to be seen. I set off to locate the cunning canine. Having searched a few terraces, I spotted Heidi and Heather near the stream and then saw Ben slowly following their route in a methodical manner. As I became closer, I realised what the bodacious beagle was up to. Beagle Ben was, in a linear fashion, hoovering and then munching his way through sheep droppings. In that moment, I realised this explained his foul breath, and I immediately made the decision that Heidi and Heather had to go!
I spent the following week trying to find a new home for the sheep, but to no avail. Undeterred, I devised a cunning plan. Aware that my friend, Caroline, had been unable to secure people to clean (strim) her land, I deduced that Heidi and Heather could be the natural and free solution! So, I waited until after her ‘Wine O’Clock’, as she is always more pliable late afternoon.
Having made the call to Caroline with the proposal, she immediately agreed; all I needed to do was arrange transport. As the sheep were leaving, Paulo became upset and shed a few tears. So, we visited the local bar and partook in a few medronhos, and his sheepish eyes soon dissipated.
The following week, Caroline called, her voice trembling. “What’s happened?” I asked, and Caroline replied speedily, “Heidi has given birth to a lamb, and I don’t know what to do!” My first thought was, ‘Perhaps Heidi wasn’t a lesbian after all,’ then thought, ‘Who you gonna call? Carlos!’ The ‘Man from Monchique,’ which I duly did.
Carlos and his partner, Isabel, arrived at Caroline’s house, and I followed close behind. Caroline and I celebrated the birth with drinks whilst Carlos and Isabel performed the post-birth required medical activities. I looked away! Carlos decided to name the lamb ‘Luís de Camões’, who is regarded as one of Portugal’s greatest poets.
As the end of April approached, Beagle Ben and I sat on the patio, mesmerised by the nature surrounding us. Then, by that connection that we always had for each other, Ben looked up at me, and we both knew what we’d always known. As George Orwell had once written, “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.” And Beagle Ben was absolutely more equal than any other on ‘Animal Farm!’
Also Read Derek Hughes article A Year in Monchique 3 – Remember or forget– March 2020
