The wild boar in the woods

I almost forgot about the wild boar encounter.

La Valentina Nuova, in the Maremma region of Tuscany


This is a working farm with a wonderful assortment of cats and dogs who do their best to make you feel at home. The small cross-breed above became our new best friend when we shared our salami scraps with him.

This is a Bernese Mountain Dog, he is enormous

I thought this one was a Retriever, but he could well be a Maremma Sheep Dog


We awoke on our last Tuesday to rainy, cold weather and decided to indulge in the ultimate holiday luxury: lazing around reading and eating (and perhaps sipping some of that fabulous Italian wine). Ginger Cat moved in for the day and curled up on the chair

At around 4 o' clock I started feeling a little restless; the rain had gone and some exploring was called for. I opened the bedroom door surreptitiously and allowed Ginger Cat inside to wake Walter from his afternoon nap.



Since we hadn't yet explored the farm we decided a walk was in order. The dogs were beside themselves, racing in circles and trying to show us the best route to take, running ahead of us then running back to make sure we were on the right track.At the end of the farmyard was a dirt road lined with tall trees - a good option for a late, lazy afternoon walk.
The road wound past another farm with some skittish, pretty woolly calves on one side and a field of wild flowers on the other. At the end of the dirt track we came to a closed gate which the dogs had slipped through and we could hear them barking in the distance. I whistled for them a few times (I am a champion whistler, she said modestly) but they were off on an adventure and not at all interested in our sedate ramble. Given the closed gate and thick mud on the other side we decided to head back (the wine was waiting after all). Suddenly I heard a faint, high-pitched yelp coming from the woods up the mountainside. Walter and I stopped, listened, heard it again (this time the yelping seemed more urgent) I turned around, raced back to the gate and headed up the hill shouting to Walter "The little dog is hurt, quick!"
Now this was a steep, muddy incline and I hadn't been to gym for 6 weeks so the going was quite tough. And the dogs seemed to be quite far away. Also the olive trees had given way to thick bush (maquis, I think it's called) so I was having to stop to get my bearings and catch my breath from time to time. Walter was a little way behind me when I stopped to listen. The (now frantic) yelping was much closer - it was definitely the little cross-breed and it sounded like the bigger dogs had reached him. They were adding to the general commotion, barking furiously for help. I had just started uphill again, fighting through the thick bush, when I heard another sound; a deep angry grunting. My brain-Google searched and came up empty (do you mean werewolf?) I paused, held my breath, closed my eyes (all the better to hear you with my dear) and concentrated. Nothing. Opening my eyes again I looked around, but the bush was now very thick and I had obviously been making quite a lot of noise. Then I heard it again, a threatening guttural grunting. This time Walter heard it too; "Karen, come out of there right NOW, that's a wild boar!"

No, I didn't stop to take a picture, this one courtesy of  flickriver.com


I thought about this for a few seconds. The big dogs were barking, the little one was yelping, and really, how much of a threat could an overgrown warthog be? A fresh round of (much louder) grunting and barking (and lack of any weapon) triggered my dormant survival instinct. I turned and ran down the mountain, past Walter (who was looking around for a sharp stick to protect me from the wild beast of  the Maremma) yelling "We must get help, it's goring the dogs" slipping and sliding down the steep slope, dodging olive trees and trying to think of the Italian word for wild boar without falling and breaking a few bones on the way down.

I spied Anna, the manager, as I raced around the corner into the farmyard yelling "cane, cane" (dogs, in Italian) making tusks out of my fingers next to my mouth. She looked around, clearly not understanding the urgency of the situation. Something more was needed. I lowered my head for the charge, grunted furiously and headed straight for her, skidding to a stop inches away and gesturing up the hill "Cane. Cane. Trouble, vicious bloody wild porco attacking poor cane! Get help, mayday!"
Anna looked alarmed. Confronted by a wild-haired, bush-scratched, mud-covered, apparently rabid guest making threatening gestures and shouting in a foreign language, I suspect she was considering her fight-or-flight options when something clicked in her head. Relief crossed her face - "Ah. Si. Cane.Cinghiale" she held up her hand in the universal sign language for wait while she dug her phone out of a pocket. By this time Walter had arrived, looking quite red in the face and trying to catch his breath, hunched over with his hands on his knees. "I think she's calling for help" I said. But no, she wanted to show us pictures. Pictures of the dogs with a dead wild boar. Far from needing saving, the dogs had trapped the wild boar and were quite likely dispatching it even as we were rushing to help them.