People can sometimes be wrong

We need to talk about weather. And about how even one's favourite human can be wrong about stuff sometimes.

So the car was piled high with rainproof clothing, towels, boots, umbrella etc. in preparation for our trip down to see YAM-aunty in Dunoon last week. It was wet enough in Aberdeen, and as every resident in Scotland knows, it's always wetter out west. 

Hmmm. Or so they say. 

But the Gore-Tex over-trousers were not deployed and the brolly remained unfurled as YAM-aunty, Gail and I enjoyed a stroll along the southern end of the Dunoon promenade on Friday morning. The rain showers danced around us on the water but did not make landfall, and I diverted onto the shingle beach to enjoy an encounter with a lively young schnauzer. 

By the time we reached the Boat House café the sun was warm enough for the humans to want to sit outside while indulging themselves with hot drinks and cakes. This threatened to be rather tedious as Gail never ever gives me treats from the table and, disappointingly, had instructed Yam to follow suit.

(photo by YAM-aunty)

The two friends nattered on and on but, just as I was about to die of boredom, relief appeared in the form of a terrier Gang of Four. There ensued much sniffing of rear ends while the humans discussed which type of terrier is most stubborn. (The Scotties won).

Later in the day, I settled down on Yam's beautifully crocheted blanket while the two humans were glued to the TV, watching a rugby game* and it soon became clear they were supporting different teams.

All through my visit to Dunoon I took great pains to alert the humans to threatening sounds in and around the 'Hutch'. And if some might interpret this as being "too noisy", and particularly bad form when staying in a tenement building, I would like to point out that our hostess was not actually all that quiet while the rugby was on...

Oh and by the way, it didn't rain until we were east of Crianlarich on the way home on Saturday.

*England versus Argentina

Autumn colours and a special friend

So Gail and I are staying with our lovely friend YAM-aunty this week, and I have been busy demonstrating how both 'Nice Nobby' and 'Naughty Nobby' are appropriate names for me. (Gail says perhaps 'Noisy Nobby' should be added to the list...) 

In between defending our friend's cosy 'Hutch' from invaders (noisily) I have been out and about enjoying the pretty autumn colours. I hope you like them too.

Happy Nature Friday! 

Agility progress - like a seesaw?

It seems to me that readers are due an update on my progress in agility training. 

Well of course, in my estimation, I am getting along fabulously. The fact that I have heard Gail use words like 'wayward' and 'highly erratic' and 'lacking in focus' when telling her friends how I've been doing can safely be ignored.

Now that the evenings are dark, the weekly Deeside Dog Agility training sessions take place indoors in a big barn. So many interesting corners to explore! 

And I do love jumping over the obstacles - the jumps, the 'A' frame, the tunnel...

Yes of course I understand that, officially, one is supposed to run through and not climb over the tunnel but they do say variety is the spice of life, don't they?

I am not keen on this weaving through a line of poles business. As far I'm concerned, the only good Pole is a Lowland Sheepdog (a.k.a. PON) or a young person who recently voted against the Law and Justice Party...

I digress.

Gail says she wishes I would follow the example of one of my goody-two-shoes handsome and high performing training buddies, Harrison the Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever, he who lacks creativity always obeys his handlers' instructions. Who has a ten syllable breed name anyway? Actually eleven if you say it Sco-ti-a.

Last week I was introduced to the seesaw for the first time and, so long as it was locked in a fixed position, I was quite happy to run up the ramp (did I mention I like climbing on things?)

Then our trainer Miree made a small adjustment and the seesaw moved just a little when I got half way up. Eeeek!

NO WAY was I again going near something that shifts under my paws. What if it signalled an earthquake, an avalanche or a landslide?

Miree was sympathetic and told Gail that terriers in particular tend to be seesaw averse. She gave us some homework that involved Gail rigging up a board that wobbles so I could practice standing on it. 

How do you think I did?

At least it stopped raining for a short while...

It doesn't take long for the Gail and Nobby household to start suffering from cabin fever. 

Once the Storm Babet deluge had subsided on Friday, Gail decided we'd stroll down to the mouth of the harbour and check out the sea state. 

Not a bad idea although, to be honest, it's not the most thrilling walk.

I busied myself by picking up random bits of litter en route while Gail tried (without much success) to capture on camera a short-lived rainbow.

We passed the offshore supply bases and it soon became clear that the rain might have stopped but there was no let up in the gale force winds. The waves had all but submerged the outer barrier to the harbour.

The fact that it was VERY BRAVE of me to 'pose nicely' for the camera in this particular spot might not be obvious from the still photograph.

But I think you'll see my point if you watch this wee video...

The rain returned with a vengeance on Saturday...

Too much weather...

Thursday was looking quite promising. Or so I thought. 

First of all, I noticed that Gail did not get dressed in what I now recognise to be her cycling clothes (black leggings, bright orange top). Always a Good Thing. 

She took me to the park after breakfast let me play at length with a new friend, cocker spaniel Georgie. See how his tail is almost as waggly as mine! Black lab neighbour Angus showed up too, although he's not a great one for rough and tumble. 

It was quite windy, but that's fun, right? 

Shortly after we got back to the house I started to hear rain pelting against the window and a strengthening gale tearing branches off trees. So I curled up in my favourite chair while Gail busied herself with baking some cheese and haggis scones. 

Mid afternoon, this hooded apparition, wrapped head-to-toe in Gore-Tex, disturbed my haggis-related reverie and proclaimed, with what I suspect was forced jolliness: "Righty-ho Nobby, time for our afternoon outing, I think you might be needing this". She proceeded to dress me in my red waterproof jacket (which I am not at all sure I like).

We just walked a short distance along the disused railway line. The weather was perfectly horrid. 

I surveyed the scene and decided that if I scrambled up the embankment and stood beside the wall I would be better sheltered from the Storm Babet. 

When Gail called I refused to budge until she tempted me down with a nice treat. Then she put on my lead and we were both happy to return to our dry and cosy home, and watch videos of the storm on the local news outlets. Gail charged her phone and torch, and checked her supply of candles. 

Happy Nature Friday friends. Thanks once again to our wonderful friends Rosy and Sunny for hosting this blog hop. We hope the weather's better where you are! 

Early morning kiss

Something new to sniff

I am excited to report we have a wonderful new statue in Duthie Park. The gentleman featured is wearing rather a fine pair of brogues, don't you agree?

Oh, you want to see more than just his shoes? Well OK then.

Do you recognise him? It's John James Rickard Macleod.

No, me neither.

Why is he sitting here and what did he do?

Well the clue is in the words above the seat. It seem that this fine Aberdeen-educated gentleman played a key role in the discovery of insulin while working at the University of Toronto in the early 1920s. Along with Canadian physician Frederick Banting, he won a Nobel Prize in 1923 for this valuable research, but his contribution to the breakthrough was later disputed and only in more recent years has it again been properly recognised. You can read about JJR Macleod in more detail if you click here. 

So anyway, a bunch of good people in Aberdeen decided, quite rightly in Gail's view and mine, that Mr Macleod deserved a memorial in a quiet corner of our favourite park, and it was finally unveiled last week. 

And here he sits, looking out across to the bandstand.

 

And now, every morning when we visit the park, we will think of all those diabetes sufferers (humans and dogs) who have been able to live life to the full, in part due to the work of this brilliant scientist.

Glorious Glen Tanar plus

Happy Nature Friday friends!

I'm delighted to say that we have (I hope) something for everyone to enjoy today. So please ignore that silly superstition about Friday 13th...

First of all, one for those of you who like pictures. 

It finally stopped raining and on Wednesday Gail took me for a long walk in Glen Tanar, an all time favourite place for both of us, and we have some nice photos to share.

Secondly, here's a wordy bit, for those of you who enjoy this sort of thing. 

The good news from Gail's Nature Writing course is that, after a hiccup last week when she wrote a really boring piece in which I was not mentioned once, I returned to centre stage for this week's assignment.

The remit was to write c.500 words "about an encounter you've had with nature, injecting your own feelings and opinions so that the reader can share your emotional journey". 

 

THE HUNTER AND THE HUNTED

March 2022. Dawn is breaking in my inner-city back garden. A poorly coordinated bundle of fluff is scampering about on pipe-cleaner legs. My brand new puppy Nobby is eight weeks and four days old. House-training has commenced. He’s a few yards away, snuffling in the grass, all curiosity and ill-judged confidence. I watch, enchanted.

Suddenly, I notice a large shadow moving slowly in front of the shrubbery, a dozen or so paces behind Nobby. My early morning eyes strain to make out the shape. A fox, a large one, well fed apparently… He pauses, with what feels to me like menace, at the edge of the lawn. Nobby seems unaware of the danger. 

I am paralysed with fear on his behalf. 

What to do? My instinct is to run over and scoop my precious pup into a protective embrace. But will this attract the attention of the fox? Might Nobby run away from me and towards the predator before I reach him? Would a fox attack a two and a half kilogram puppy? 

I stand there, wrought with indecision. Then, a rapid movement, and the fox leaps easily over the garden wall and disappears. 

I breathe again.

*********

July, 2023. Nobby is just about fully grown, with curiosity and confidence undimmed. His horizons now extend far beyond my back garden and he is accompanying me, together with my old friend Henry, on a hike to the summit of one of Aberdeenshire’s bigger hills. The air is gentle, almost warm. Henry and I chat amicably. Nobby has ventured off-piste into the scrubby, stunted heather. 

The broad track bifurcates and I call Nobby over, repeatedly. He fails to respond. From a distance I can see him making little pouncing movements, his elongate snout poking at something in the undergrowth. Playing with it, almost.

I lose the short battle of wills (not for the first time), accept that my naughty pup is not coming and I must go back and rein him in. As I approach closer I hear a squeaking sound and my first thought is that Nobby has found a dog toy someone left behind. The truth then dawns as I spot a wriggling little fury of tawny fur caught between Nobby’s jaws. 

Horrified, I cry “leave it Nobby!” and, perhaps to his surprise as much as mine, he lets go. To my even greater surprise, while I am attaching Nobby’s lead, the short-tailed rodent waddles off on his delicate splay-toed feet and disappears into a clump of blaeberries. He seems to be uninjured. I want to believe this.

Back home, an internet search supports my suspicion that Nobby’s prey was a field vole. The clincher is that these creatures are said to emit squeaks reminiscent of a child’s toy when scared.

Manufacturers of ‘enrichment items’ for dogs clearly know their market.

*********

I reflect on how, when Nobby was a wobbly, skinny puppy, the maternal urge to protect him from dangers posed by nature was strong within me, the responsibility deeply felt. The conflict I experience when I see him, staying true I suppose to his terrier breeding, apparently relishing torturing a tiny, harmless vole, is equally powerful, but harder to process.

THE END

A bale of straw

It's always fun to visit the beach after a big rain storm. 

You know you'll find all sorts of interesting bits of vegetation swept down the nearby rivers and washed up on the sand, all eminently sniffable. 

But a bale of straw??

Imagine its story. In springtime, a farmer plants seeds in his fields beside the banks of the River Dee. Over the course of the summer, the fresh green barley sprouts out of the bare earth. By August, the landscape is aglow with carpets of ripe golden barley, the whiskered spikes dancing in the breeze. Come harvest, the business end of the barley is separated and dispatched to local whisky distilleries for malting, and the straw is baled up for use as animal bedding and feed. And then along comes a massive storm, the fields flood and the bales of straw are swept up by the river before they can be collected. Most of the bales break up but a few survive the torrent and the waves more or less intact, and here one of them sits on the beach awaiting 'decoration' by the local dog population...

Some things I learned this weekend

 

When your owner says "Nobby, there's no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothes"...

...she is not necessarily correct.

And when she says "Nobby, but surely you don't want to stay inside all day lounging around on the sofa in front of the cosy warm fire,  just because of a few drops of rain"...

...she could be wrong about that too.

Oh and by the way, it was not "just a few drops of rain", it was an all weekend long deluge. And I would also like to point out I was not the only member of the Gail and Nobby household to be doing their fair share of lounging around on the sofa this past couple of days!

A hill walk with the cycling ladies

I'm beginning to think Gail's 'cycling' friends are not so bad after all. 

Perhaps feeling guilty after reading my post on Monday, three of them decided to forsake their bicycles this week and came over to join Gail and me in our Torridon cottage. Undeterred by the atrocious weather forecast, they were keen to venture into the mountains on Thursday and, I note, came suitably equipped for the expedition.

The plan was an ascent of Beinn Damph. 

These ladies keep up quite a fast pace. It's rare that Gail finds herself at the back of a walking group. As usual, I enjoyed plenty of off piste forays into the bog.  

It was predictably ear-liftingly breezy on the summit ridge and the clouds were closing in, and even this hardy gang decided not to linger. 

I'm pleased to report they were down off the hill in time for afternoon tea (carrot cake and paradise slice) at the Torridon Community Centre café.

Happy Nature Friday!