We are back in Agonda Beach, Goa--this year staying in the pink and orange house instead of the beach huts. The house is a minute's walk from the beach, up through a neighborhood of Indian houses. We're in the last house on the dirt path, on the river which flows into the ocean.
There are some new neighbors this year, besides us. My favorite is the mongoose couple who sprint across the terrace a couple of times a day--always in the one direction. I don't know when they sprint back. maybe at night. Once you realize they're not extremely furry rats, they become very cute. My dad used to read us Rikki Tikki Tavi, tales by Kipling (I think) about a brave and resourceful mongoose who kept a family's home safe from Naga, the deadly cobra who lurked in corners and made its presence known by some incredibly creepy and insinuating hissing and sliding around. Scared the living daylights out of me as a kid. So I'm grateful to feel safe from any heretofore unknown cobras in the area.
The most annoying residents are the mosquitoes who mark the sunset with their insistent whizzing and whining. I'm continuing my love/hate relationship with mosquito netting--when it comes untucked from the mattress corners and drapes itself over my skin I hate it. when I can see flying critters outside it, I'm happy it's there.
A week or so ago there were between five and seven English visitors staying at the beach per Pat's excellent travel agent skills, and many nights we had dinner on the veranda under the Diwalit light, liberally protected by insect repellent and gin from flying critters. On several occasions, dinners were punctuated by loud encounters between the neighbor's dog Jambo and a local pig--the dog barking furiously and the pig clearly holding its ground with some fearful snuffling and grunting. We laughed about the dog and pig show, and some people idly wondered what would happen if there were more than one dog.
the other night we found out. At least three dogs barked furiously at the pig, clearly trying to attack and rip it to shreds. However, the pig gave as good as he got, and even better, as the dogs eventually faded away in the opposite direction, and the pig stood alone in the thicket, grunting heavily, but master of its personal universe.
Of course there are chickens galore, and roosters who crow all day and all night. All eggs are free range, it appears. Cats have increased exponentially, and are underfoot and in and out of the house until we started closing the doors on them. One mama/kitty combo found our outdoor chair cushions just the place to snuggle for the night until Pat started turning the cushions over and draping them from the top of the chairs, leaving no soft indentations for the cats to lie in. They are cute but clearly flea-infested and no one needs more itchy bites.
Our compost bucket is spread on the ground outside by our landlords to feed the holy cows which is generous and ecologically sound except that the cows then wander through the narrow passageway between our dwellings and have been known to deposit large cow patties right in our doorway--once right in a pair of flipflops. No problem though--our landlady sprinkled a little sand on the cowflop and picked it up like a piece of black dough to put on the flowers she's growing. When the bucket is not emptied soon enough for them, they've nosed open the kitchen door and stepped inside the kitchen. Talk about a sense of entitlement.
And our fellow mammals, the bats, hang in a huge tree visible from our porch all day, then rise from their somnolence at twilight to squeak their way toward food. We wonder where they go, because it would be pretty spooky to have a battalion of bats drop by for breakfast.
the other night we found out. At least three dogs barked furiously at the pig, clearly trying to attack and rip it to shreds. However, the pig gave as good as he got, and even better, as the dogs eventually faded away in the opposite direction, and the pig stood alone in the thicket, grunting heavily, but master of its personal universe.
Of course there are chickens galore, and roosters who crow all day and all night. All eggs are free range, it appears. Cats have increased exponentially, and are underfoot and in and out of the house until we started closing the doors on them. One mama/kitty combo found our outdoor chair cushions just the place to snuggle for the night until Pat started turning the cushions over and draping them from the top of the chairs, leaving no soft indentations for the cats to lie in. They are cute but clearly flea-infested and no one needs more itchy bites.
Our compost bucket is spread on the ground outside by our landlords to feed the holy cows which is generous and ecologically sound except that the cows then wander through the narrow passageway between our dwellings and have been known to deposit large cow patties right in our doorway--once right in a pair of flipflops. No problem though--our landlady sprinkled a little sand on the cowflop and picked it up like a piece of black dough to put on the flowers she's growing. When the bucket is not emptied soon enough for them, they've nosed open the kitchen door and stepped inside the kitchen. Talk about a sense of entitlement.
And our fellow mammals, the bats, hang in a huge tree visible from our porch all day, then rise from their somnolence at twilight to squeak their way toward food. We wonder where they go, because it would be pretty spooky to have a battalion of bats drop by for breakfast.
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