Written by Lucy Brzoska
An hour before twilight, deep in Collserola, I was sitting at the side of a track, eating an apple. I lobbed the core behind me without a second thought. Some moments later, there were rustlings and quiet grunts, but nothing to see. They then started emerging onto the track, small boars, more and more of them, like a version of 101 Dalmatians. In fact there were 12, accompanied by two female adults.
One of the females stood protectively in front of the youngsters, planted squarely in the middle of the track, looking straight towards us.
The young ones, recently grown out of their baby stripes, were herded to the other side and up the opposite bank.
Then I saw him, the proud owner of my apple core, trotting along, closely followed by a rival, whose short mane was bristling in frustration.
Two of the frisky young boars came over to sample Stephanie’s walking sticks, before they all disappeared into the undergrowth again.