Tilos Bandit

K. Mentzelopoulos

This week I had my first encounter with the criminal underworld that boldly rampages throughout our beautiful island. Maigret, our beloved Scottish terrier, nervously aroused me at five o’clock one morning to warn me about the infamous intruders about whom I had sadly heard so much and who were at that very moment lurking right outside our bedroom window, stealthily seizing the cloak of darkness to mask their nefarious deeds from the innocent, sleeping civilian population. Armed to the teeth, these savage brutes used every weapon in their personal arsenal to callously and indiscriminately pilfer what they wanted without just compensation to the rightful owners. Oh, the injustice of it all!

Deciding that discretion is indeed the better part of valor, I desperately searched for something to grab in my sleepy state so that I could render myself something short of completely defenseless. Having two instant choices before me, I selected the miniature European Union flag over my floppy fishing hat for sentimental reasons. I then realized that the only chivalrous deeds I could successfully perform with my quickly converted “armament” made entirely of collapsible cloth was to either diaper a baby or signal my support of an expanded European Union, so I tossed it aside and cast my fate to the wind as I threw open my front door to boldly face the unknown. What I saw at that moment with sleep filled eyes completely took my breath away.

To a culinary enthusiast, a devotee of gardening and a lover of flowers, the razing and grazing of my kitchen herb garden, English marigolds, sunny yellow bell peppers, and mouth-watering melons, [all raised from seed I might hasten to add, but I won’t because the thought is more painful than my gardening callouses] was a bit overwhelming before coffee. My wife joined me by the front door and her first emotional utterance was “Aren’t they adorable, dear?” I thereupon instantly melted from the former self-image of Sir Lancelot du Lac into a more appropriate version of the Knight of the Sad Countenance, also known as Don Quixote of La Mancha.

These savage scoundrels, criminal compatriots, and perilous perpetrators of malicious misdeeds were none other than two beautiful goats that I half heartedly saw smile at us with innocent looking eyes before dancing out of our garden into the distant hillside as the first rays of sunlight peeked over the mountains. In truth, these lovable creatures who visited our garden “taverna” sampled everything we have been growing, including vine-ripened tomatoes, sunflowers, courgettes and spinach. We witnessed the remains of their clear culinary preferences which turned out to be the parsley (both Italian flat leaf and frize`), marigolds and yellow peppers. They thankfully missed the wild strawberries, orange thyme and lemon verbena which I harvest on a daily basis.

I walked back home to get dressed and while I was putting the espresso pot on the fire, Maigret began barking again. This time I was prepared. Armed with a walking stick (used exclusively to help me keep my balance during hillside hikes and, more importantly, to retrieve winter hats from the top shelf of my closet), I chased these persistent pests all the way up the nearby mountain thinking that this time I had gotten rid of them for sure. I confidently returned home where I found my wife serving espresso and a beautiful banana and walnut cake that she made for her “heroes”. (Yes, Maigret likes to sample the patisserie, although truth be told he likes plain bananas better.) I devoured the morning pastry, relished my espresso and truly thought that I would never see these goats again but Maigret proved me wrong.

When I saw the goats this time and being the lawful citizen that I am, I decided to call our local constabulary and ask for their intervention. The sleepy voice on the other end of the phone line responded that these goats are reportedly wild and that I am free to do anything that I wanted to do with them since every goat herder on the island will refuse to admit their ownership in order to avoid responsibility for the damages that they had caused. Of course, being more experienced than I am in this line of possible pursuit, the policeman emphasized with understandable and unrestrainable laughter that “if I can catch them” I could do anything that I wanted with them.

For those of you unfamiliar with the nuances of trying to catch a wild goat, permit me to declare here and now that I find it to be as easy as catching Halley’s comet. I thought to myself, “I wish I were chasing cows” and right then I had what proved to be a workable idea.

On the plains of Eastern Washington, I was taught to lasso a herded animal by a wonderful friend, dedicated cowboy and fellow fisherman. I got some rope, put my lessons to work and chauffered my two new captives to a place where they could break bread with a higher authority. I left them off at the foot of an ancient Monastery on the other side of the island, several miles away. There they will find hectares of wild thyme, marguerites, fennel and even religion to hopefully lead them from going astray!

I love Tilos criminals. I find them to be cute, cantankerous, clever, and definitely driven!

Konstantinos Mentzelopoulos