Everywhere around me the land was being churned over, the village tractor was roaring, and the poor horses and donkeys with their improvised wire bits were pullng the ploughs through the hardbaked soil. It rained like crazy for a while, and I think the farmers here thought that it would be a wet season, and waited with their ploughing till the last minute, as the ground was again baked rock hard by the scorching sun
The irrigation system had been turned on again, but as the dam was not quite full yet, we had only two days per week to irigate, so I could see the farmers constantly looking up to see whether there was a possibility for rain. As it was mostly onion, potatoes and pumpkins that was planted now, it needed quite a soaking for the first few weeks, as the sun was so hot.
I am sorry for this small farmers, whose whole existence depended on their small harvests, and did not make enough money to put away something for a rainy day, and as most of them, women included, have a great love of bacchus, a big lump of their hard earned money went to the bottlestore owners's pockets.I was lucky  as I still had my flat in George that I rented out for an income, and although that was far from enough, coupled with my small pension from the government, and the fact that I had my own veggie patch, I lived pretty well, that is of course if my one hundred and ten garden destroying pests did not get to the veggies and fruit first.
Then Jan and Nina, who had to get rid of their 'Boerbull' dog called Bubby as he was a dangerous threat to everybody, and attacked the small Andreas one day without provocation, and bit right through his hand, had decided to get another dog. The Boerbull breed is known for their viciousness, and self and Irma had warned them about this breed, but I think they got their's for the family's protection when Jan had to go away to Johannesburg for his work, when he usually was away for three to four days.Nina told us shortly that it is all in the way a dog was brought up whether it is vicious towards his own people, and although I knew that their dogs were treated with lots of love, I still did not like the idea of this breed around the young child, as there are quite a few instances known of them killing their owners, or children.
One day they came home with a small bundle, and I went over to see what kind of dog they got this time.
It was a beautiful Bloodhound puppy, and I immediately liked it, as it's eyes were soft and the expression on it's face very serene, not like Bubby who looked at you since he was a small pup with a frown and a kind of hatred.
But I thought this puppy just too quiet, as it hardly took in any food or drink, and lay in her basket looking at us with a vague expression, and I asked them whether there was something wrong with the little thing, but they didn't believe anything was amiss at first, but the second night after they fetched it from the breeder, it died.
Another three of that litter had also died, and the breeder promised them another puppy from a new litter that was a week old then, so they came home and waited!
Then they got Moby! Oh my good heavens!