Yesterday we had a Hunt. Not that we as in "we" went hunting, but a huge number of hunters convened a few undred meters from our house to go into the woods, flush out some of those darned wild boars, and turn some of them into steaks. At first I did not realize what was going on. Many more people passing our back alley than I have ever seen since I moved here, much barking of hounds in the distance, and horns! Hunting horns! That took me by surprise. In Italy, as a rule, boar hunting seems to be a grisly affair, where people go out quietly on their own, and end up shooting mushroom pickers, other hunters' dogs, or other hunters, period. I never heard anything resembling that except perhaps in the parade of the 25th of April. Wether that is a positive demonstration of the local hunters' musical talents, or a negative one of the City Council Band, I could not say.
With such a mess of people, guns, dogs and alarmed boars in the woods, there was no chance of going for a walk with the ponies, so I stayed home and played the Parelli Friendly Game with TomBoy for a while.
Late at night when I brought supper to the ponies a bonfire was roaring on top of the hill, and a promising smell of reoasted meat wafted around. I was heartily happy. It's the first time I see hunters off into the wild with my blessing.