A new bag

Do you like this gift our friend A-M kindly gave Gail as a thank you for helping her during and after her recent hospital stay?

It's a very fine bag, don't you think?

And not only is it big enough to carry a satisfactory quantity of dog treats, it will also serve as a reminder to Gail that I am now well overdue a train trip down to England, or at least to Edinburgh or Glasgow or somewhere similarly exotic. I gather my predecessor Bouncing Bertie once greatly enjoyed his brief exploration of the railway station in Newcastle upon Tyne.... Time for a return visit perhaps?

Gail says that problems on the railways due to intermittent strikes have deterred her from pursuing my 'train training' over the past couple of years, but it's my understanding that the industrial strife is now all resolved and so WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR?

A Very Special Anniversary!

Well done to Cecilia and to Paca! You both guessed correctly in your comments on my Monday post.

Today, 26th September 2024, is indeed the 25th Anniversary of Gail becoming a dog owner for the first time in her life.

It was just 4 months after she'd moved (for work) from London to Aberdeen, and from an upstairs flat to a house with an enclosed garden less than a mile from her office, and she decided it was time to satisfy a life long yearning and acquire a dog. 

As a child, her only pet had been a much loved guinea pig called Arthur. Friends and relatives had dogs and Gail thought she knew quite a lot about them, but really she didn't! 

She saw an advert for a three year old Westie in the local newspaper, phoned the owner, a farmer from near Fraserburgh whose accent Gail found impenetrable but was too embarrassed to admit it. She did figure out that the dog's name was Hamish and he was staying with the farmer's brother in Aberdeen, and she arranged to go to see him. 

This is Gail's diary entry for 26th September 1999 (you can enlarge the image).

For those of you who can't decipher Gail's handwriting, the short version is that Hamish came to live with Gail there and then. Yes there were some 'challenging' moments in the very early days, but Gail says she never regretted her decision. 

Here is Hamish in November 1999, down in Nottingham for a visit to Gail's parents (both sadly no longer alive). I wonder if  her Dad, then a youthful looking 78 years old, was entirely happy to have Hamish plonked on his lap?

Hamish lived with Gail for over a decade, and in his later years started a blog called, of course, Hamish the Westie, which is still live on the internet.

He had a calm temperament, a good 'starter dog' Gail says, albeit one with a hefty dose of that Westie stubbornness so typical of his breed.....

In 2010, when Hamish was coming to the end of his life, Gail could not imagine she would ever be able to find space in her heart for another dog. But after he was gone, she realised that a dog-shaped hole in the house badly needed filling, and in fairly short order there came a new puppy, Bouncing Bertie, whom many readers will remember well.

And after Bertie, in 2022, me! 

Respecting the autumn crocuses. Or not.

Here I am, on the weekend of the autumn equinox, at my favourite spot in our Torridon garden, admiring the delicate autumn crocuses. 

Gail tells me that the ashes of my predecessor-but-one, Hamish the Westie, are buried under the crocuses, and so she's pleased I am showing this spot due respect. 

When alive, Hamish loved to sit here, staring out at the water and in fact failing entirely to respect these lovely mauve blooms. Gail says he would plonk his sturdy frame right down on top of them if she didn't quickly intervene.

It's so nice to be in Torridon this weekend, enjoying perhaps the final few days of our spell of warm, sunny weather. Our little corner of paradise seems lovelier than ever just now, after last week's trip down to Ayrshire for the agility show. In the interests of openness and transparency, I must tell you that, although immediate environs of the event and the park where we found YAM-aunty were pleasant enough, the town of Ayr itself is now close to the head of Gail's list of 'most dismal places in Scotland', vying for top spot with Wick in the far north-east and assorted rather dreary satellite towns surrounding Glasgow in the Central Belt.

Back to Torridon. The leaves are starting to turn and the summer swarms of jellyfish have departed from the little beach near the cottage, so one no longer has to watch carefully where one treads at low tide! 

PS Do join us on Thursday, when I will be helping Gail celebrate a very special 25th anniversary. Can you guess what it is? 

The truth about early morning walks

Today I would like to clear up a potential misapprehension regarding the daily routine in the Gail and Nobby household. 

Here are some photos from my early morning walk yesterday (Thursday).

I suspect that those of my readers who live in hot parts of the world might be thinking thus:  "How considerate of Gail to take Nobby out for a walk first thing, when the sun is low in the sky and the temperatures relatively cool. We would hate to think of him frying in the midday heat."

It is true that this week has been unusually warm and dry for a Scottish September.

But it is most certainly not the case that the weather here gets so hot that a lively WFT would not want to go out for a run, whatever the time of day. Frying in the heat is not a thing in Aberdeen.

The truth is that I am not averse to the occasional lie-in, and the main reason I am 'encouraged' out of the house at the crack of dawn every Thursday morning is so Gail can spend the better part of the day joining her friends for a bike ride through the beautiful Aberdeen countryside while I am left home alone.

The cycling ladies take a break for elevenses at Midmar on Thursday morning

So now you know the truth.. 

I hope all my friends who take part in Nature Friday have been enjoying nice weather and fun outings this week! 

Kidnap risk?

Gosh there are already so many matters to worry about in today's world. I really didn't need another thing to add the list. 

On Monday morning, on the way back from our weekend in Ayr, Gail and I stopped for a leg stretch in the small town of Auchterarder, and I was most concerned to see this warning sign on the main street.

Yes you read it right: "Skinny People Are Easy To Kidnap. Stay Safe. Eat Cake."

Well, my owner Gail is not exactly skinny, but she is relatively thin and now I'm all anxious that she might fall into the 'kidnap-vulnerable' category. 

Who would feed me and take me for walks and give me morning cuddles if she were to be taken hostage? 

How ever would I raise the ransom?

Oh dear. It seems the only way I can mitigate the risk is by encouraging her to up her cake consumption. 

More pies apparently might also do the trick...

So that's Gail's winter diet sorted!

The less said the better

Well it seems I'm going to have to find something different to tell you about after my weekend down in Ayr. Gail is insisting that, regarding my performances at the Ayrshire Dog Agility Show, "the less said the better Nobby".

Apparently when one is repeatedly marked 'E', this does not mean Excellent. Who knew? 

Fortunately, I am allowed to tell you about our visit with YAM-aunty, whom we found cosily esconsed in her van parked at Belleisle Park, close to where the agility event was taking place. 

This was a lovely spot, and so much pleasanter than our Travelodge accomodation on the town's uninspiring outskirts. 

We went for an evening walk around Belleisle Park's formal gardens, and a passer-by commented on how well behaved I was, posing so nicely. 

I think I might have heard Gail muttering something about if only my behaviour had been so cooperative earlier in the day in the agility ring... 

The Robert Burns Birthplace Museum was close by too, and I so wanted to go inside with Gail and YAM-aunty. It was most annoying to learn that their 'no dogs in the museum' policy' extends to include a certain wire-haired fox terrier who shares a birthday with Scotland's great bard and occasionally writes poetry himself. 

Even my offer to recite Burns 'The Twa Dogs' (fox terrier style)  failed to move the lady behind the ticket desk... 

However, I was allowed in the museum gardens and even got to pose on the famous 'Brig o' Doon' and to climb up inside a slightly scary Burns monument.

Finally, and best of all, back at the agility show I got to meet a new fox terrier pal, Alfie of 'Alfie's Leads'.

Aren't we just the handsome pair?

PS from Gail: in the dog agility world 'E' stands, I'm afraid, for 'eliminated'...

Same picture, different perspectives?

I'm wondering what you see and think when you look at the photo Gail took on my early morning walk yesterday?

Do you see the pretty white Japanese anemones in the background and think how lucky Gail and Nobby are to live near a park where the gardens are so carefully tended and colourful throughout the year? 

Do you see a wire-haired fox terrier and think gosh what a handsome fellow and isn't he posing nicely? 

Maybe you see Gail's gloved hand and think (correctly) that it must be cold now in Aberdeen and really their summers are far too short? 

Or maybe you see something else entirely? Do tell.

Happy Nature Friday friends! 

Vigilance

It's a bright and breezy morning here in Aberdeen and I'm happy to say that we're back into the familiar groove after a week of slight disruption.

Gail tells me that it's good to have a change in one's routine every now and then, especially if it means one can help out a pal. (The truth is we both like routine.)

On the way back from Torridon last week we picked up Gail's friend A-M in Elgin, and she was with us until yesterday when we drove her home and afterwards I was taken for a nice run in Bin Forest.

A-M did disappear (into the hospital it seems) for one night during her stay in Aberdeen and came back next day looking a bit fragile. I wanted to jump up on her lap and give here a cuddle but Gail said no Nobby, remember how you felt immediately after you had your little surgery last year.

So I was on strict orders to be a Good Boy, and I think I was, although Gail seems less certain of that.

I am usually quiet in the evening these days, but with a delicate visitor I thought it important to be extra vigilant and so after dark I took it upon myself to warn of any potential threats in the neighbourhood. In case our friend was hard of hearing, I made sure to bark quite loudly... I did stay quiet once everyone went to bed.

Last night Gail watched the video just released by the Princess of Wales about her recent cancer treatment. I think my owner might be turning into a Grumpy Old Woman.  She says she wishes the Princess well and understands that Kate's position has its particular challenges, but I also heard my owner wondering how the video might land with sufferers from cancer and other horrid diseases who did not have access to bags of money, private healthcare, a loving husband and a large and supportive family network...

Meanwhile, I am just wondering when and where we'll go for my next nice walk.

A convenient climate

As the crow flies*, the Deeside Dog Agility Club training field at Drumforskie Farm is about a mile and a half from the North Sea.

Gail took me up there on Saturday afternoon for what she called a 'remedial' training session ahead of our forthcoming trip to compete in the Ayrshire Dog Agility Show. (Apparently my performance at our club night on Tuesday had been "unsatisfactory in every respect"...)

Gosh it really was quite hot and sticky in the sunshine and still air up at Drumforskie this weekend. 

Isn't it convenient that here in North East Scotland we have this climate phenomenon known as 'haar'.

After my training session Gail drove us the short distance to the coast, and we went for a refreshing walk along the fog-shrouded cliff path, where the temperature was down at least 5ºC compared to inland.

Later, of course, I enjoyed a good nap on the sofa. 

*I'm wondering here if I should have written the more locally relevant "As the herring gull flies" but Gail says there is no way any self-respecting Aberdeen seagull would travel in a straight line if it had the opportunity to veer off course and snatch a bag of chips out of the hands of an unsuspecting visitor... 

Autumnal in Aberdeen

Well it's all turned a bit autumnal back here in Aberdeen, as I warned Gail's cycling group before they headed out for their weekly ride yesterday morning. 

And talking of seasons, I just want to address a comment made by 'Tigger's Mum' in response to Wednesday's post about laying in supplies of firewood for winter at the Torridon cottage.

She asked if we had a shovel stowed away somewhere for digging our way through snow that might block access to the logs stacked in the shed.

As a terrier, I find the question quite insulting. It implies she doubts my prowess in tunnelling and excavation work.

Gail points out we do possess several shovels, but admits these are also stored in the shed, an arrangement which she might reconsider. 

Readers can be further reassured that, in the 22 years since Gail purchased the cottage, she's never once seen more than a few inches of snow covering the garden. Although we're located at plus 57 degrees North, the relatively warm waters of the Gulf Stream drifting up from the Caribbean mean the winters are not nearly so severe as might be expected at this latitude. 

That's not to say it's exactly balmy in these parts come January.

Happy Nature Friday friends! I hope the temperatures are comfortable where you are just now.

All set for the winter

So last Thursday in Torridon an ENORMOUS lorry came down the steep and narrow road to the cottage, manoeuvred with difficulty into position, and deposited a crate containing 1.5 cubic meters of firewood logs outside the garden gate.

Here I am patiently waiting inside the house as Gail transported 17 wheelbarrow loads (that's 51 full bags) of ash logs all the way to the shed at the far end of the garden, lifted the bags into the shed and stacked the logs, two layers deep, against the side wall.

Of course I had to inspect the finished work, not forgetting to water the Crocosmia (Montbretia) flowers en route to the shed. 

Pleased to report Gail did a tolerably neat job of stacking the logs and now we are all set for winter! 

A spider (not the scary kind) and a stolen sock

Gail and I met this fine fellow riding in a backpack while we were walking along a track across the Applecross peninsula on Saturday. He is a 13 year old border terrier and his name is Spider. He seemed very content to be spending his senior years enjoying the wild landscape from the comfort of his K9 Sport Sack while his human pedalled his mountain bike across the rough terrain. 

Being a hale and hearty 2 years and 8 months old, I am of course well capable of tramping a few miles into the wilderness under my own steam, although the occasional stop to admire the mountain views (and hopefully score a treat) is perfectly in order.

Our destination on this warm end of August morning was a wee beach beside Loch Gaineamhach, a nearly three mile walk starting from the village of Kenmore. Gail visited this beach with my predecessor Bertie in December 2019, and she had mentally tagged it as a fine spot for a swim on a warm summer's day. 

Today was that day.

So that's our loch in the distance. 

And here we are at the little beach. 

First I went in to test the water while Gail changed into her swimsuit. 

So clear and clean and refreshing! 

Gail found the water a bit chilly but claims she would have stayed in longer had she not spotted me back onshore grabbing one of her socks and making off into the heather with it. 

Can you see here I am still clutching the sock tight, despite Gail's insistent cries of "leave it Nobby, leave it!". 

I did eventually relinquish my prize, and with Gail fully dressed again, we happily made our way back to the car in the warm (20ºC) sunshine. 

We didn't see anyone else on the path except for Spider and his nice human.