ANOTHER DOOR, ANOTHER DOG, ANOTHER DAY

This is the penultimate old 18th Century door within walking distance, another dog, this time my own and a bright, sunny day after a ferocious storm. There is a hint of autumn in the air. It was a nice walk through the old olive grove and the dog, Cloud, had a jolly good time.

At some ungodly hour last night I woke to find her face in mine, fangs out, growling ferociously. I told her to go away, of course, whereupon she started barking. This routed Himself who told her to go away. At this she broke into her weaving dance, growling and barking alternately. Clearly, she was desperate so Himself let her out. She went yodeling down the road in a fair fit of hysteria. We thought it might be a feral cat and hoped it wasn't some hapless burglar.

She came back, tongue hanging down to her knees, flopped out and went to sleep. This morning, walking down the road, I discovered what the fuss was all about. The bank holding up the road had been seriously rootled. Wild pigs. I should think the boar of the troop told her to go away, too.