Thursday, June 29, 2006

Newsletter June 2006

The Story of Flenters; a case of the underdog beating the odds…

But first; warm words of thanks to all the people who gave me their email addresses. Also, warm(ish) words of request to those people who bounced my first informative email not to block or bounce or reply with unkind words of praise unless they made sure that it is not perhaps any life saving information from the local pill-guy!
And then, lastly, to those wonderful people who wanted to know what “email” is, well, God Bless you; you are from an era where “going home” meant “if you want to say something to me, pack a basket, get on your horse, I’m in the house next to the Wattles on the South slope of Mount Ben Macdui. See you soon.” You, Sir / Madam, have no need for email; you must have the most wondrous memories! Bless you!

There are still many people out there who have not replied but I will be patient. Do not, if you fly into another country, pick up a dreaded disease, come back by ambulance and then blame us for not warning you when in fact it was done by email but you missed out because you were scared of spam mail, junk mail, the boogieman, electronic warfare or whatever your personal phobia is all about. Point made.

Flenters a.k.a. Pondo alias Lotto also under the nom de plume of Stinky, the story, in one part, told first hand (or is that toe?)
It was early one chilly Thursday morning in June, in the year of our Lord 2006, when a group of valiant young men, (of which I was one - noticed the word young somewhere huh?), left the parking at a local resort, made famous by the millions lost there over the years by local people naively feeding hard-earned currency to noisy inanimate objects of sin! (“Ja Dominee, ek het hulle nou mooi gesê, hoor!”).
Having made such a lavish intro, let’s get back to the essence of the story; nine men and their cycling machines (sounds like a movie the older folks might remember – but cannot email us if they do remember) set off from the beach at the Wild Coast Sun on a 3- day mountain bike trek to Port St Johns.

It was not quite light enough but eager to get away we started a long peddle down the absolutely pristine beach south of the Hotel. For more than an hour we cycled below the high-water mark (yes, it was low tide madam, and no, we didn’t need snorkels). On the firm sand it was such a pleasure, especially when the sun came up behind us, casting long, strange looking shadows slightly to the right and in front of us. If you looked over your shoulder the other riders were sharply silhouetted against the serene backdrop of red and ochre. Not much was spoken. Everyone almost drowned in the beauty of the moment.

Then we did a river crossing, carrying the bikes above our heads, a toe made sudden contact with a submerged rock, a little bone snaps like a green twig, and one of the nine gets a sudden reduction in overall speed and agility. The next twenty hours over three days will be remembered for the Biology lesson: “How often the human body needs a little limb like the number 4 toe”. Vividly. Vocally. Repeatedly. Continuously. Ad nauseum!!

Ok, so it was not all fun and games, but, nobody will ever forget the eyes of Flenters when he became Pondo after winning a Lotto but before he became Stinky for a brief moment.
For the sake of the colonial descendants (“Dis die Ingelse Dominee”), the word Flenters is Afrikaans for something that is torn, shredded, in rags, smithereens etc etc.

So here follows the story of Flenters:
At the end of day 1 of this epic trek along the coastline (and it was more mountaineering and carrying the bike than cycling in the end), we came to Port Grosvenor where we spent our first night in a cottage.
Jan and Natalie, our backup team, caterers, and support, were getting the cottage sorted out and unpacking the food from the support vehicle (yes Sir, it was a Landy). The local African families looking after the cottages on a daily basis were very kind and helpful and they were accompanied by their trusted canine friends. The typical rural, skinny, long legged and short haired dogs so well known to us all were placidly mingling with the crowd.
Note: This breed has recently made name overseas as a very resilient type of dog, immune against most known canine diseases, the dogs are extremely loyal and very lovable (given the right treatment and affection of course). It is now known as Canus Africanus and fetches huge prices in England! Or, typical George Bush style marketing:” Canus africanus: the basenji. (barkless hunting dog: forerunners of breeds such as the pharaoh hounds).
Anyway, rounding a corner of the cottage, carrying my kit, limping severely, (yes it was my toe), feeling so sorry for myself, I looked upon two small brown pools of hope! They were eyes and the eyes belonged to a little Aficanus puppy, barely a few months old. There he was looking up at me, almost fearless, with lots of hope, wagging little tail kicking up a puff of dust. “Waar kom jy nou vandaan Flenters?” I exclaimed. He was in a sad state. The expression ‘skin and bones’ suddenly took on a whole new meaning. His little body was covered by patchy dry hair. His ears were hanging. He had numerous little sores and scratches over his entire body. He was totally malnourished and neglected. But his eyes were wide awake, full of life, eager. A real feisty little fellow!

And so it came to pass that ten men and a lady simultaneous experienced the sudden desire to feed the little doggie. And well-fed he became. Within hours he had a firm and rounded middle where previously there were only ribs and ticks. He was now one of the boys. He wanted to show his utter gratitude by running from one person to the next but he suddenly had a spot of difficulty negotiating the corners. He was probably feeling a bit top-heavy with all that cheese (“Camembert nogal, Dominee”) and other food stuffed inside over the previous hour. Eventually he succumbed and fell asleep between somebody’s feet next to the fire.

So when did Flenters become Pondo by winning a lotto?
A little before sunset three of us walked down (sorry, two walked down and one dragged along biting his tongue) to the beach to look at the sunset behind the hill inland from the village. Suddenly he was there: Flenters; with us, emanating a strong sense of belonging, head held high, ears halfway up already. Suddenly, a movement on the beach about 500 meters away; members of a local African family returning home after a day fishing on some remote beach. Flenters made a guttural little noise and set off into the sunset. “He’s gone now”, Eddie said. Barely were those words out when Flenters changed speed and started to produce what he thought was a fearsome growl. “He’s turned on his own people” Dix cried out and we doubled over laughing. Flenters only stormed away a mere twenty yards before he returned, ears now in the full-up position, carrying his new-found belly two inches higher off ground level. In fact, he was floating two inches above all previous levels. He was now one of us! He became the dog called Pondo, now living on the lovely Coffee farm called Beaver Creek just outside Port Edward with Eddie, his son Robbie and the family. Never again will he be Flenters again, never again will he go hungry again; he won a big lotto on that weekend in June of 2006.
In conclusion, he was legitimately bought from the family in Grosvenor for real money and it was indeed a rare occasion where a business transaction came out beneficial for three parties; the African family, Eddie and obviously for Pondo.

I went to see him on the farm last weekend, taking my daughter Lizé and wife Renette for breakfast (on Father's Day!) at Beaver Creek’s coffee shop and he is something to see!
Go there for a premium coffee and a scrumptious meal one day soon and you will see Pondo, the African dog that won more than a lotto.

Oh yes, and Stinky?
You take a puppy from one meal a week to three meals a day and some intestinal process will erupt fifteen minutes into a two hour ride in a real taxi with nine real tired guys with a real driver that were really upset about Pondo’s lack of potty training!


Greetings folks, be kind to your muti-man, he is slower than normal! Thank you for giving us your time,

Pieter & Renette Naudé.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

And now for something completely different....

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Curtains with the whiff of dead rat?
Tablecloth speaking to you from a deep curry grave?

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