And so my battle against the local wild boar continues. For those of you that have been lucky enough never to encounter the cinghiale they look like this:

cinhaileI’ll admit that at a distance they do actually look quite sweet but that’s as far as I’m willing to compliment them.

Anyway, being the over optimistic fool that I am, I thought it would be nice to plant some olive trees on my land. There I was, imagining planting a few trees, watching them grow and then harvesting a veritable multitude of olives. Unfortunately, that has not been the case thus far. It would appear that my friendly local wild boar have decided that there is no activity as singularly fun and rewarding as wrestling in my olive grove and uprooting the trees.

Normally I don’t catch them in the act, only knowing that it was them from the hoof and tusk prints left beside the mangled remains of a tree or two. A few days ago however I noticed them brazenly uprooting my trees and proceeded to (very rashly, considering how vicious they can be) run at them with the closest thing to hand, a gardening fork. To my delight, all but one ran off, the remaining one however seemed a determined sort. I got within a few metres of him and waved my fork angrily whilst yelling various obscenities at the top of my lungs. He looked at me blankly. I continued to yell. He continued to look at me as if I was a complete fool, before turning his back and walking off at a leisurely pace. I lost a staring contest with a wild boar.