(Not) Playing Ball

So Gail came back LATE from her Thursday bike ride and wondered why I did not leap up to greet her instantly when she stepped inside the house. 

I guess she thinks I have nothing better to do than sit at the front window anxiously awaiting her return. 

Anyway,  I made it quite clear that I had important business to attend to and that just because she wasn't playing ball it didn't mean that I couldn't.

Gail then tried to interest me in her photos of some newborn lambs they'd cycled past in a field on the way to Stonehaven. 

Frankly I wasn't impressed by the photos. I was even less impressed when Gail tried to tell me how I was a lucky boy because her friends had been discussing what they did when they got home after a ride and all the others said the first thing was to either eat, take a shower or clean their bike, whereas Gail claimed she always prioritised taking me out for a walk. 

Oh, to be strictly accurate, they ALL said the VERY first thing was to have a cup of tea.

(I was clearly much mistaken in imagining that these ladies would discuss the state of the world and the meaning of life while pedalling along the Aberdeenshire byways...)

Well I did get my afternoon walk, albeit a short one, in nearby Clochandighter Wood yesterday. My word, the weather is grey and gloomy right now. I bet those little lambkins are yearning to be back inside mummy sheep's womb!

Happy Nature Friday! 

The Kim Kardashians of the sheep world

Our Torridon cottage is surrounded by sheep - grazing the rough pasture and sometimes insolently blocking the narrow road. They are the reason why I always have to wear my lead whenever I exit the garden gate.

On our visit this week, I noticed that the sheep had newly painted rumps, most being green but a few, kept in a separately fenced off area, a rather lurid yellow. I instructed Gail to make enquiries.

Well it seems this is the sheep mating season and the paint indicates the ewes who have recently enjoyed the 'services' of a ram. The colour indicates the breed, green ones being your bog standard Cheviots and the yellow ones a type known as Beltex (Belgian Texel). 

The Beltexes are renowned for their heavily muscled hindquarters. One might call them the Kim Kardashians of the sheep world...

Although to be honest, under all that wool, they look pretty much the same to me.

Developing the independent terrier spirit...

I am so happy that it was on Friday when Gail and her friend Tess took me for a Torridon hill walk.

And not on Saturday.

However, I do have one small confession to make, relating to our otherwise perfect Friday outing.

Perhaps you can see that Gail is holding tightly onto my lead here on the hill, and giving me a stern talking to...

But it's hardly my fault, is it, if a small flock of sure-footed black sheep suddenly appeared out of nowhere on the ridge of the hill (in a place where Gail has never ever seen livestock before) and just as I was having fun roaming free and sniffing around in the heather, those sheep came past, heading for the precipitously rocky side of the hill. So suddenly I heard cries of "come Nobby, come! COME!!!!" and detected a note of panic in Gail's voice. 

Was it really necessary for me to come right away, my adolescent brain wondered. The yearning for a taste of independence is common to all youngsters when they reach a certain age, right? And, this was a great place to explore, and surely Gail would calm down in a minute or two. I was well away from the sheep and was certainly not minded to do anything stupid like follow them over a cliff edge. 

But the shouts just got louder, and so, remembering that she probably still had some treats in her pocket, I trotted back up the slope to where Gail was standing with Tess, both of them looking very anxious but also relieved to see me. 

I would like to have comforted them with the thought that it is only right and proper for a pup of nearly eight months old to start to 'test the boundaries'. Surely, Gail should be more worried if I was not developing my independent terrier spirit?