Staying Close

Sicily - who knew it was such a spectacular island? Mountainous terrain and roads that follow the contours to giddying heights so that at any point you could be hanging over a sheer drop thousands of feet below. Hitchcock directed a film about how that feels. Fabulous baroque towns set on hilltops criss-crossed with narrow passageways and sharp turnings on steep inclines between ancient stone buildings that a handcart would have difficulty manoeuvering around yet we had to do it over and over again in a large car. The car was meant to be small, very small, but Hertz didn't have any so we were upgraded. It was a mixed blessing. But we were genuinely amazed at the unexpected beauty of the places we visited and stayed at: Ragusa, Noto, Siracusa, Ortigia, the latter the jewel in a very fancy crown. Sisters holidaying for the first time alone together in over 40 years, enjoying wonderful food, mostly straight out of the Ionian Sea, and finding endless reasons to laugh, and to exclaim.

While I was having fun a certain whippet was most definitely not. He cried constantly for the first few days until someone came up with an ingenious solution: stuff his dried food into one of those balls with a small hole in, and let him work for his meals, take his mind off his worries. He spent hours at it apparently, and it may have stopped him crying all the time, but he lost a lot of weight so it clearly didn't relieve his anxiety. I was desperate to get him as soon as I could, so hared over from Cambridge to spring him from his prison before noon, closing time. He must have heard my voice as I settled the bill and was debriefed, and as he walked towards me down the corridor he looked tremulous, nervous. "I wonder if he will have forgotten me," I said to the kennel person. "I've only had him for six weeks." But when he came into reception he threw himself at me, sobbing loudly, wailing really, wrapping himself around me, jumping up, rubbing his head into me wherever he could. He was beside himself with relief; I don't even know if it was joy. I think he was too shattered by the whole experience for that. "Well, that answers your question," the woman responded with a broad smile. Once in the car he crashed out and slept all the way home.

Poor skinny whippet. He's happy to be back but hasn't left my side since Saturday morning. He watches me, he gets up when I move, he follows me everywhere. It's more intense even than when he first came here, but I was expecting it and I'm trying to make him feel as secure as I can. He came to yoga this morning and slept in his basket the whole time, a silent black angel. It will be a while before I leave him alone again. It's not all been tragic though. On Sunday we went to Sizewell beach where he ganged up with a pack of dogs and raced around with them, a foursome in flight together. It was so great to see him having such fun, his old self again. I must remember never to go away in May. It's the pretiest month of all, the one when everything really bursts out of winter bindings and blossoms voluptuously. In just one week the hedgerows have filled out, the verges have grown tall and lush and verdant, and the garden has been transformed. It's too sad to have missed all this, and I won't again. The little fellow and I will stay put between April and October, and if we do go away again we go together.