It wasn't our finest hour...

On Sunday after lunch, once the rain clouds finally cleared, Gail decided we'd go and explore new territory - footpaths across the farmland north of Glen Tanar.

I will say one thing for my owner. She has a pretty good sense of direction and excellent map reading skills. Possibly, she says, because when she was little, no-one ever suggested to her that these were things girls could not do well.

However, on occasion, the route finding can still go pear-shaped.

Sunday was just such an occasion.

We were not far into the walk when the intended track disappeared and I was being carried across a stone wall capped with a barbed wire fence and into a field of sheep.

We met a lady and an exuberant Labrador with a stick clamped between his jaws. The stick (actually half a small tree) became entangled in my lead while the Lab's owner was pointing across the field and telling Gail that the route over the hill to Glen Tanar was straightforward to find and the going was easy.

Neither of these statements proved true.

Confronted with a bog and then a slope covered in gorse (a coconut-scented but notoriously prickly shrub common in these parts) Gail decided to press on regardless.

If I am looking reproachful in the next photo it is because Gail has just forced her way through particularly dense thicket of gorse, carrying me under one arm (and dropping me more than once) while fending off the thorns with the free hand.

Eventually we made it to a proper track and from thereon in it was plain sailing. 

The sun came out and Gail switched the phone camera to video mode. Please be aware that the wee film below gives a wholly misleading impression of our afternoon's exertions. But why not come for a good brisk walk with me anyway?

And do try to keep up!

Puzzlement

I can never work out why I am always kept on a lead around sheep.

Can you?

Thank you for all your kind messages following last week's post. I'd better let you know that Gail took me to the vet on Thursday morning, although both my paw and my cough were feeling a bit better by then. Actually, 'cos I got all excited at the vet, I had a major bout of coughing  and I did notice the vet raised his eyebrows in quizzical fashion when Gail claimed the cough was "almost gone". Anyway, we came away with a 'precautionary' packet of antibiotics and I am almost back to my normal bouncing self.

Is it a sheep or a rock?

I am sure regular readers who saw my last post will be relieved to learn that Gail and I are not planning to abandon hill walking for mall walking any time soon.

On Sunday we summited (is that really a verb?) Clachnaben in Aberdeenshire. It was a grey day, and boy was it windy at the top, but the autumn colours were still looking pretty, especially when set against my own varicoloured furs.

However, in my opinion the photos below are somewhat disfigured by the fact that I am wearing my 'flexi' walking string. Gail deemed this necessary due to sheep grazing at random locations along the route.

I might add that many of the objects Gail thought were sheep turned out, on closer inspection, to be rocks.

Perhaps kind friends could remind a certain person that a visit to the optician is overdue.

Sheep Shenanigans with the Suffolk Stupenda

Who knew a SHEEP could be such a drama queen?

Let me tell you about the goings on at Banchory Show this weekend.

So Gail and I arrived at the main arena in time for the judging of the 'Cattle, Sheep and Horse Champion'.

First into the ring trotted a most handsome Clydesdale, understandably voted the show's top horse.

He was shortly joined by a rosette laden and deliciously beefy example of the bovine family. 

But where was the sheep?

Absolutely sign of the show's Woolly Wonder.

The judges conferred anxiously and, by loudspeaker, reminded the sheep that her presence was required.

But a diva knows that to keep her public waiting is part of the performance.

After several more minutes a quad bike towing a trailer slowly drove into the ring...

...and, amidst much kerfuffle, an ORANGE coloured Suffolk sheep finally emerged.

She stood there patiently while her human entourage knelt down to place her hooves in the correct position.

Now talk about high maintenance. I mean, even the 'Best in Show' types at Crufts don't DYE THEIR FURS!

I can just imagine what my rugged Shetland sheep pals in Torridon would have to say about her...

Well I know you'll all be wondering which animal won overall, but I can't tell you 'cos at this point  I was distracted from the judging by a cheeky wee foxy called Blaze.

Blaze, we learned, comes from Granddach Kennels like me. You'll notice his tail is docked. At nine years old, he was born just before a total ban on docking dogs' tails was enforced in Scotland.

Quite a feisty chappie I must say, although I'm really not sure why Gail kept muttering "two of a kind all right"...

Grumpy human...

Gosh, do you know, before this week I had no idea what an important role I play in maintaining Gail's equable temperament and cheerful disposition.

Whilst I am delighted to report that my wound from last weekend has been healing nicely, this has only been achieved at a price. Gail and I have been trying hard to observe to vet's instructions, which limit me short walks on the lead, with a total ban on running around in the undergrowth, chasing cats, jumping on sofas and all sorts of agreeable activities.

This has been boring but, between you and me, I have been feeling kind of wiped out anyway after all the trauma of the 'incident' with Jake. Worse by far has been the effect of this lack of exercise on Gail.

You see it most in the early mornings. She leaps out of bed, all ready to go for our daily trot round the park, she grabs my lead and if she were a pup her tail would be wagging. But when I remind Gail that we are limited to a gentle stroll down the road and back, her face clouds over and later I notice she is less patient than usual when talking to her very deaf mother on the phone.

So for once I was quite relieved when, early today, I spotted her pumping up her bicycle tyres and oiling the chain. She wheeled the bike out the front door and returned four hours later, hot and sweaty but looking much calmer.

She even shared with me a photo of a not so silly sheep, taken by one of her cycling companions while out on the ride.

And later in the afternoon when Gail phoned Human Granny I heard her repeat "Bertie and I will be arriving in Nottingham on the train, at 6:30 in the evening, a week on Thursday" at least four times without sounding at all irritated.

Rise and shine!

At this time of year, we only get to see sunrise on our morning walk if we're LATE (i.e. it's not a workday for Gail).

So this was last Friday in Duthie Park, Aberdeen.

And these are from Sunday morning near our cottage on Loch Torridon.

East or West, Scotland's best!

A very special walk up Morven

Just over a month ago (July 2nd to be precise) Gail disappeared off for the day with some of her oldest friends. I was most put out later to learn that they had all been for a walk up Morven, one of my favourite hills, and was not at all satisfied by being told it had been a "very special walk" and that my presence that day would "not have been appropriate".

Well I'm pleased to report that this weekend Gail decided to revisit Morven. This time I was allowed to accompany her and along the way I learned a little about the earlier "special walk".

It was disappointing to have to start off on the lead. Gail seemed to think I might chase after the sheep in field at the base of the hill, but I only wanted to commiserate with them over their terrible haircuts.

I regained my freedom when we started climbing the steeper slopes. I even stopped to pose in the heather, although, not being a Westie, this is not part of my contract.

Near the top Gail told me that the "special walk" in July had been to scatter the ashes of her dear friend Kate, who passed away earlier in the year in Australia, but who wanted to be laid to rest on this particular Scottish hill. A group of nearly twenty, led by Kate's husband Henry, had taken part in a simple but unforgettable goodbye ceremony on the windswept summit, on what would have been the twenty fifth anniversary of the only wedding at which Gail was ever a bridesmaid. 

In the summit cairn there is a visitors book, hidden in a waterproof plastic box, behind a wooden door.

Gail showed me what was written on 2nd July 2013.



After adding a brief note to record our visit today, we headed back down.


An off piste diversion to chase some noisy, low flying grouse (I SO nearly got 'em) led to an awesome patch of ripe cloudberries.



Gail would have been picking them all afternoon had I not pointed out the deteriorating weather conditions and that she already had enough for a nice 'multekrem' anyway.


Luckily we made it back to the car before the rain set in. Although not before I had been required to do yet more posing in the heather...

PS from Gail: Thank you for all your wonderful suggestions for a hard hat for Bertie. Please keep them coming!