My first task, as I saw it, when arriving at Un Solo Pino for a working holiday in early March, was to help instil some order into the unruly little pack of dogs inherited by Colin and Chrissy. I felt that a good old English dog walk in the coolness of the early Sicilian morning would help to enforce a little semblance of order with this boisterous and disorderly gang. Simba and Tina, two small Jack Russells are part of the threesome with Rocky, a mongrel with JR features, but the extraordinary body of a miniature Rottweiler with shortened caricature legs and a distinctive but forceful tail. They all have endearing qualities, however, and in one way or another wheedled their way into my heart.

The first walk should have shown me that their independence and unruliness was so entrenched that it would be nigh on impossible to reverse. I marched up the mountainous hill from behind Col’s and Chrissy’s house with a fist full of delectable doggy treats. For the first part of the incline, I seemed to be winning; they stuck with me, gazing at me seemingly with adoration which turned out to be cupboard love. Halfway up the hill where the going was getting steeper, these little mongrels must have thought to themselves, “Yay, just look at these new hunting grounds she’s brought us to, hadn’t thought of these before!!” because, as a unit, they disappeared into the first serious rocky outcrop on the hill.

Noses to the ground, tails wagging hysterically, leaping from one white rock to another, their colouring camouflaging them completely, on the scent of something, off they went. No amount of wolf whistling, and yelling made any difference. The inhabitants of the valleys below must have been wondering what on earth was going on (only English men and mad dogs – not quite the midday sun, but nearly so). It is not habitual to take dogs walking in Sicily; a very odd concept! But those damn dogs! They had gone, completely out of sight and hearing. Rattling my treats did nothing! They’d just disappeared. Once or twice I would catch a glimpse, Rocky’s tan curly tail momentarily visible above a white rock; but no, my calls and whistles went totally unheeded.

I persevered right to the top of Un Solo Pino. Turning back on whence I’d climbed, the dramatic beauty of Colin and Chrissy’s land was breathtakingly magnificent. To the south were vistas of the Mediterranean, further round, the mountaintop town of Caltabellotta nestled around its 3 distinctive mountain peaks, the Sicani Mountains off to the right, and ridges and ridges of dragon teeth ranges off to the left. Cianciana, their closest town, nestled atop its very own hill-top, and Ribera, the orange growing area of that part of Sicily, abutting the shores of the Mediterranean.

On the bottom of their land stands the distinctive Falcon rock, and where I stood at the top, behind me rose their boundary hill encrusted with white rocks picking up the pinkish hue of the rising sun. Steep, green valleys fall away from their plateau from where I admired the view; a myriad of different wildflowers and herbs decorated the ground; farmers in the visible distance were starting their work for the day.

The silence: it clasped and held you; soothed you; took away the cacophony of 21^st  Century living. It was only interspersed with bird calls, a Corn Bunting off to the left, a Lanner Falcon overhead, hunting on the wing, the warmth of the early morning sun joining the silence imbuing peace deeply into my soul. The greenness and the richness of the diversity around me stilled my being, making me feel totally in the present, forgetting the challenges of life.

My reverie, however, was broken by the thought of the lost dogs! What dogs! Still no sign. Despondently, I returned home without them, scared they’d been lost to some dog-napper, or enticed off to live with someone else. Cols and Chrissy were very reassuring, saying they were sure they’d return “when they felt like it.” An alien concept to an English dog owner!! 

Sure enough as we ate breakfast, there was little Simba, a gentle, little, subservient soul, with a bemused, somewhat confused take on life, a question-like look in every glance. But as I produced the reward of food, who should rock up but Rocky himself. Barging Simba aside he wanted first dibs at anything going; nothing confused or bemused about Rocky – a rumbustious, loveable canine hooligan. Whilst I rejoiced at their return, I now couldn’t stop worrying about little Tina. The recipient of Mr Porcupine’s quills, Tina, a diminutive, pretty little dog, is blind in one eye. For all her petiteness however, she had a mind of her own and if Rocky tried to muscle his way in on her share of the food, she had a growl the size of a dog 3 times her size! But she was little and pretty, and the thoughts of dog-nappers and other eventualities played in the forefront of my mind.

The day wore on! Chrissy and I finished unpacking the trailer, but for her beloved piano which, as you probably heard she couldn’t wait to play; the sounds reverberating around their land, spilling out into the adjoining valleys marking their boundaries; a sonnet of pure delight and happiness.

We unboxed stuff, and re-boxed what wasn’t needed immediately for Chrissy to put into their tiny attic. And whilst Chrissy finished those tasks, I helped by cooking lunch for us all in Sicilian style. Smoked lardons of pancetta, mixed with onions, finely chopped garlic, and delicious delicately green, sweetish zucchini, fried in fresh olive oil adorned the freshly cooked pasta. Grated carrots zinged with a tangy lemony French dressing. Simple, fresh, and delicious. All washed down with locally produced red wine, again Sicilian style, purchased for three euros in litre plastic bottles in the butcher’s shop!

Chores outside after lunch made the day wend towards its end. Heart heavy, convinced Tina was never coming home, I prepared for bed. Little LED lanterns were our only light; the generator is used for major requirements, like running the washing machine and charging everything that needs to be charged, but evenings are spent with the lanterns inside and solar lights illuminating the outside.

Teeth gleaming after their cleaning, I was just bidding Cols and Chrissy goodnight when I caught sight of movement near the dog’s drinking bowl outside. My heart flipped with joy – it was Tina, as fat as a miniature hippopotamus pregnant with triplets, lapping the water with gusto. She’d either made some serious friends or stolen someone else’s dinner somewhere on her travels – she had definitely gorged on something doggy-delightful! The relief was tangible; I could now sleep easy – Tina was home, in one piece, albeit either a thief or a befriended!