A lot of British people living here in Rhodes are viewed as either totally eccentric by the locals, or even as a flaming nuisance in one particular field, that of animals and their welfare.

We have one friend (no names no pack drill) who couldn't bear to see the often-emaciated-looking feral cats hanging around the waste bins provided by the local authority and so, a year or so ago, began to put a plate of cat food out on her terrace. Now, apart from the three dogs and a couple of domestic cats she already keeps in the house (to the horror of the locals), she also has upwards of 40 cats living outside her front patio doors and regularly places enough saucers of food out there to make a crockery shop proud. She's even taken some of these animals to the vet in Rhodes town (some 55 kilometers away) for treatment when they've been ill. She has close neighbours who are Greeks and they have recently begun to express their disapproval and so she worries about whether her neighbour-relations will break down further as she can't find it in her heart to stop feeding the little furry breeders (yes, they're mating again at the moment and so will be producing goodness only knows how many litters in her garden). 

When you go to visit her you can cast your eyes around her very nicely manicured garden and see a cat under every tree and bush to be found. They're sitting on her patio table and chairs and nestling into the soil atop her terracotta plant pots. they're lazing atop her pergola and stretched out on the dividing wall between her garden and those on either side. In short, it's cat city! The problem is, look next door on either side and you'll notice the cats colonising their gardens too, and that's why the problems are escalating. the locals see the feral cats as a nuisance, as vermin, and even cull them on occasion. Now right next door they have someone who, in their opinion, is creating a health hazard and they have begun to make their feelings known to our friend, sometimes in high voices!

She's a good friend and we've tried to encourage her to get a bit "harder" and pack in this feeding malarkey, which would save her a considerable monetary sum into the bargain, and she agrees she ought to do something but keeps putting it off. She'll confess to us each time we visit that she's at the end of her tether with it all and still can't make the decision to cut off their food supply in the knowledge that they'll soon drift away and revert to getting their meals from the local bins down the road. The fact is, she's too soft and the first to admit it, but it's doing her head in.

But it isn't only cats and stray dogs that seem to infest many an ex-pat's home, much to the bemusement of the Greeks. Recently we fell about when one couple who we know locally told us about another set of British neighbours, who we are also on excellent "cup of coffee or glass of wine" (depending on the circumstances you understand) terms with, who looked out of their window one day recently to see that a very young baby goat had become separated from its mother and her family by accidentally straying onto their side of the chain-link fence that surrounds (well, to be accurate, almost surrounds ...obviously!) their garden. There was no sign of the mother or the rest of the herd, but there was this cute little kid bleating and trotting back and forth inside their garden, evidently in some distress over being separated from mum against his or her will.

You often see such scenarios in the countryside around us here. There are innumerable chain-link fences surrounding ancient olive groves or citrus orchards, most of which have seen better days and so are full of stretches where they've been breached. Along comes the local herd of goats and some will graze to one side of a fence, whilst the rest will find themselves on the other. It seems that whilst they're grazing (which is most of the time) they're not really paying enough attention to where they're going. Pretty soon you'll see some of them getting all worked up about being on the wrong side of a particular fence from the rest of their group. It doesn't ever seem to occur to them that, if they'd just retrace their steps by just a few yards, they can pop through the breach and rejoin their mates. I don't rate goat IQ all that highly.

Anyway, to return to our couple who now find they've a kid in their garden. Hubby told his missus that she shouldn't worry as the herd would be sure to come around again soon and baby would be reunited with mum. Missus said she couldn't stand to see the poor thing in such a lather and so went out to try and catch it and bring it into the house as it was sure to either starve or catch its death with a cold night expected, as it was January. Against hubby's wishes she and he were soon running back and forth themselves in an attempt to trap the little soul and bring it in for some sustenance. despite his protestations that nature ought to be left to take its course, hubby went along with his wife's whim, as we so often do don't we chaps?

Sure enough, after much puffing and panting they eventually cornered it and took it inside their very nice modern newly-built villa, where missus insisted it ought to spend the night. Hubby tried to suggest that the herd may even pass by in the small hours and so the kid should be out there and ready to rejoin its family; but no, missus was steadfast - "it stays inside with some warm milk and a heated room with which to pass the night." The subject of a potential problem with goat droppings didn't even enter the conversation.

They eventually retired to bed and attempted a night's rest. Soon the little kid's bleating downstairs was tugging at the Missus' heartstrings and she just couldn't lay there tossing and turning while it expressed its distress relentlessly. While her hubby turned over and pulled the duvet further over his ears, his compassionate wife slipped out of bed and into her gown to go and see what was to be done. When hubby awoke the following morning he noticed a slight whiff in the room and was more than a little surprised to see the young goat curled up at the foot of their bed!! It seemed that his good wife had found that the only way to stop the bleating in the end was to bring the lucky creature up to bed with them and give it a blanket to sleep on. Bit of a far cry from a Greek mountainside eh?

This, then, was the final straw. Hubby now exited his bed, threw on his gown and, after a couple of failed attempts, managed to pick up the bovine visitor, carry it downstairs and out into the garden at the crack of dawn where - sure enough - the herd could be heard (almost a pun there, don't you think?) chomping their way up the nearby slope. By the time hubby had got back up the stairs to take a peep out of the bedroom window, the little formerly-lost soul was tucking into mother's teat and a few moments later trotting off into the Greek beyond once again in the bosom of its family.

I kid you not. Only the names have been withheld to avoid possible embarrassment, not to mention legal action!