You know where your meat comes from in the Alpujarra. Disappointingly, however, although this pig was killed immediately outside our front door, we didn't see a sausage.
In the week before Christmas, many families kill their one or two pigs to provide some fresh pork - and more importantly, a lot of sausages and ham for curing. It's quite a social occasion, with friends and extended family pitching in for what is a day or two of very hard work. The pig is killed with a slit to the throat, witnessed by a vet (they're busy at this time of year), then the hairs are burned off with blowtorches and the body is cleaned before butchering. They use everything but the squeek, and the day's killing, cleaning and sausage-making is accompanied by plenty of booze and a big stew of offal. I took the picture early on during the day, when they were still burning hair off the recently deceased pig, and scrubbing its little piggy skin. I was expecting a gift of a few black puddings to appologise for the mess, but no chance.
You don't need a dog in the Alpujarra, as you can always borrow one - it's a bit like that scheme with free bikes in Paris. We went for a walk in the hills above Juviles the other day and this little sweetie joined us. He was thrilled to accompany us on a circular route that took in the rocky gorse-lined path that leads to the pantaneta, then rejoins the careterra to return into the village by the cemetery. It's a lovely forty minutes or so, perfect for a miserable day when you want to get out, but you don't want to stray too far away from your fire in case you get soaked. Anyway, Bonbon (as we named him, after the dog in that Argentine movie) clearly knew this circuit, and was not prepared to have us deviate from it. When at one point we considered going back the way we came, he got quite cross with us, barking and herding us in the "right" direction.
