Cretan-homes, Crete property estate agents

Red in tooth and claw

by Ann Lisney

When you move out to Crete and live in a Cretan community, you have to be prepared to abandon some of your inherent fastidiousness and preconceived notions about animals and accept that they have to be either useful or edible.

As life-long dog lovers, Rob and I were initially horrified at the way dogs are treated here; they are mostly tied up all day, given an old oil drum for shelter and fed solely on bread. Their purpose in life is to alert their owner to strangers in the vicinity, which they do very successfully (and noisily). Bitches are rarely spayed and have two litters a year – the puppies of which are usually taken in a plastic bag and abandoned by the roadside or slung into the nearest wheelie bin. Hunting dogs, on the other hand, are useful, expensive and valuable, and have a much better quality of life. Yes, we could spend the rest of our lives crusading against this, but our neighbours are elderly and are patently not going to change their ways at the say-so of two meddling foreigners who have only been around five minutes. 

It is a sad fact that in some of the tourist areas many taverna owners encourage stray kittens and puppies onto their premises in the holiday season as tourists seem to like them. Unfortunately these same animals are abandoned when the visitors disappear and the tavernas are closed down for the winter.

The cats in our village are kept solely for their mouse-catching ability. They are seldom fed and are rarely given a name – in our ignorance when we first arrived we asked a neighbour what the pretty cat in their yard was called. We received a strange look, and the reply “Cat!”

It would not even occur to our neighbours that anyone would be the slightest bit squeamish about the process of turning an animal into meat. I found this out to my cost one day when I was summoned by telephone by my elderly friend Maria, who said “I have a rabbit for you, Anna”. Naďve little old me trundles up to the village to find her marching down the garden with a fearsome knife in her hand.  I quickly caught on, and hung back reluctantly, not wanting to witness the massacre. I heard it though, and very much wish I hadn’t!

Moments later, Maria trotted back up the garden holding a twitching and now bloody rabbit in the one hand and the knife, still dripping gore, in the other.

“Hold this, Anna,” she ordered. I quailed inwardly but took a deep breath, clasped the corpse’s ears in both hands and closed my eyes while Maria skinned and eviscerated it.

“Shall I cut it up for you, Anna?” she enquired. “Mmm. Yes, thanks,” I gulped.

“Do you want the feet?” Of course I want the feet! I shall hang them, still bloody, around my neck when I go out at full moon and howl…

I returned home later with acceptably portioned rabbit pieces (including its head, which I quickly threw to the nearest dog) which went straight into the freezer. When I have recovered from the trauma, I may feel differently about it and may be able to turn it into a meal – but just at the moment the memory is still too fresh (and bleeding).

Other reminders of the proximity of Nature are the rat droppings we find regularly on our bedroom terrace. As there is only a mosquito screen between our bed and the outside, this is a bit too close for comfort and we always seem to be buying rat poison. I believe that a female rat can produce a litter of 7 or 8 every 28 days, so it is probably a losing battle. However, it is one I shall continue to wage, positioning pink pellets around our boundaries in locations where they can be found by rats and not by cats or other animals.

Even though our house is new, we have had mice inside this year. We have dealt with these by using some specially produced glue which you spread on cardboard and wait for the mouse to pass over. It is intended to catch rats, but we were a bit uncertain what we would do with a live and angry rat that was stuck to a piece of cardboard. It dealt successfully with two mice – except that the second one was caught by a spill of glue that had found its way onto the doorframe. I immediately remembered something else I had to do, and left it to Rob to detach the mouse (or the doorframe).

Did I think when I moved to Crete I would be catching rats and assisting in rabbit slaughter? Not exactly. But I find it pays to be open-minded about these things!