When Gail takes me for a nice long walk in the hills with her friends, I can promise you I will display my best version of myself.
I will forget all about ball-stealing in the park, digging holes in the back lawn, shredding papers grabbed from Gail's desk and trying to bite her hand if she brings a brush or comb anywhere near my beard.
See how I am on Best Behaviour on yesterday's outing with Henry, Phil and Susan.
Near the start of the walk I wait patiently at the edge of the field with Henry, being careful not to trample the ripe barley crop.
I come immediately and fast when called as we climb up through the conifer plantation.
I pose nicely with our friends as they regroup and catch their breath from the first ascent.
I keep to the track as we process along the broad and undulating ridge.
I allow a close up photo as I sit in the heather calmly waiting for the humans to finish their sandwiches. (Variously, prawn, egg mayonnaise and bacon, and ham and tomato. Apparently.)
At the windswept summit of Pressendye I pose nicely, again. (Gail says 'windswept' is a redundant word in this sentence, as in Scotland all summits are windswept...)
Further along, I allow Gail to ignore me to take a photo of the stunning vista.
Despite my tender years I am tough little dog with lots of stamina, so as we carried on down the hill I did not slow everyone down, and thus enabled the humans reached the Tarland Tearoom before it closed.
And finally, I trotted along without making a fuss as ever so slightly weary legs (canine and human) tramped the last mile and half back to our start point.
(For those interested, we did a slightly longer version of the Tarland Skyline Trail, beginning and ending at Henry's cottage west of the village of Tarland.)
Dear reader, I am wondering, in which situations do you exhibit the best version of yourself?
