Foxy walk - the code of conduct

Perhaps some readers have seen previous posts featuring the monthly Aberdeen & Shire fox terrier walk, and would appreciate tips on appropriate etiquette should they care one day to join us.

As ever, I'm happy to help out.

We assemble at 11 am on the last Sunday of the month at the designated meeting point. This month it was the Castle Fraser Estate car park.

Front left to right: Merin, Rupert, Luna, Nobby and Agatha

Greeting one's pals with butt-sniffing enthusiasm is of course acceptable. However, timid newcomers must be treated with polite respect. 

When well away from the parking area and any dangerous traffic, we are generally allowed off the lead and there the real fun begins. 

Don't tell the humans, but between us foxies, there's an unspoken (un-barked?) competition to see who can find the wettest and muddiest spot. My girlfriend/partner in crime Agatha usually wins, with me a close second...

Hmmm. I emerged from today's water fight disappointingly clean...

Later in the walk, before returning to the car park, the humans persist in the delusion that we might all pose nicely for a 'team photo'.

It's bonus points to the first WFT to break ranks. 

At the end of the walk, the humans decide where to meet the next month, and we all keep paws crossed that they chose somewhere with maximum opportunities for terrier mischief and mayhem. 

Why not join us in Haddo Country Park in late October? The good news is there'll be muddy ditches a-plenty...

Law abiding citizens ..?

You know, until this weekend, I had always thought Gail's friends M and J were upright and law abiding citizens.

How wrong I was. 

On Saturday morning, we met M and J, and also their friend K, for a walk around the Castle Fraser estate. 

Avoiding the hordes of children taking part in an Easter egg hunt, we headed away from the castle and in the direction of the woodland walk. 

But oh dear, it seemed our favourite path was closed on safety grounds.

I assumed we'd take the diversion, but the humans decided to ignore the sign.

K, who is originally from the Netherlands, made a joke about how he thought Germans always obeyed rules. M firmly reminded him that she is Austrian not German, and peace in our time was restored. 

So we skirted round the barrier and soon came to the tranquil 'Flight Pond', where Gail and M stopped to take photos while J and K searched in vain for dangerous sinkholes. 

We would all like to thank the National Trust for Scotland for putting up misleading signs and thus allowing our little party of rebels to enjoy a walk to a favourite beauty spot free of (law abiding) Easter weekend crowds...

photo by M

The Nobby and Agatha Show

It was, as ever, lovely to meet up with my fox terrier chums at Castle Fraser on Sunday morning.

Eight dogs were present, Merin, Rupert, Agatha, Daisy, Jinx, Peanut, Snowflake and of course my good self.

But I'll be honest, there's only one pup for me, and that's wee Agatha, fellow mudlark and, well basically, the most fun foxy ever, by far! 

That's her, back left, with me in the middle, looking on admiringly.

See Agatha play! 

Fox hunting fantasies

So yesterday while I was left at home, frustrated that the few remaining highlighter pens had been locked away safe from WFT jaws, Gail was out on her bicycle enjoying some (relatively) warm Spring weather. 

Really I wasn't that interested in the photo she showed me of her cycling friends posing outside Castle Fraser. 

Left to right: Anne, Muriel, Sonia, Linda, Imogen and Lindsey

I was, however, rather intrigued by the second photo, taken by fellow cyclist Muriel as the group were approaching a favourite coffee and scone stop in the village of Monymusk. 

Now, as you might already know, the traditional role of the fox terrier (not to be confused with the fox hounds pictured above) was to flush out any foxes that had gone to earth in the course of a hunt. Hunting for foxes with dogs has been banned in Scotland for over twenty years, and the regulations were recently tightened to close loopholes in the legislation. 

And I had happily accepted the situation, despite a lingering urge to be allowed follow my natural instincts. Happy that is, until I saw this photo clearly showing pack of fox hounds (although not terriers), trotting alongside mounted humans, one of whom was wearing traditional fox hunting garb. Had I been lied to about the ban?

Gail tells me that neither she nor any of her friends had ever before seen this sight on the country roads of Aberdeenshire (and believe me, these ladies get out and about a lot). They are not sure exactly what was going on but, disappointingly, Gail still seems convinced that my desire to take active part in a proper fox hunt is likely to remain unfulfilled, except in my dreams...

Er, does this qualify as a Nature Friday post? 

Permission to shred?

Look, here I am, 'posing nicely' on my Sunday walk in the grounds of Castle Fraser. Butter wouldn't melt etc. 

So why am I apparently in Gail's bad books? Again.

It seems to be connected with an email Gail sent to the local council on Saturday, part of which is reproduced below. 

I just don't get it. As any friend of my owner will attest, she can be heard complaining frequently and at length about the fact that each year she is required by Aberdeen City Council to fork out a whole £60 for the privilege of parking in the street in front of her own home, in a residential area where there is no pressure on parking spaces.

But when, terrier-style, I express my solidarity with Gail's objections to the whole parking permit scam, I'm given a hard time. 

Life is so not fair.  

Cultural heritage: a whole new ball game!

At the end of our Sunday walk around the Castle Fraser estate in Aberdeenshire, Gail wanted me to 'pose nicely' with our friends M and J in front of the historic castle.

If you are thinking that I wasn't entirely cooperating here because I was admiring the fine architecture of this elaborate 'Z plan' structure which dates back to the 16th century and perhaps earlier, you would be mistaken. 

More interesting by far was the prospect of demonstrating my footballing skills and thus living up to my famous (OK, famous in England, among people aged over sixty) namesake Nobby Stiles.