We've been having super lovely weather in NE Scotland this week, and my paws are now feeling tip top, so on Saturday morning (I'm delighted to report) Gail decided to abandon the household chores and take me for a walk up Morven, long our favourite Deeside hill.
One learns, given the climate in these parts, to seize the moment.
Half way up the initial steep ascent, we ran in to a chap who Gail knows a bit through her work, who was out walking with his wife. It was a good excuse to stop for a breather, and it turns out this couple are both geologists and hail from the southwest of France, near the Pyrenees. Wife was ever so friendly and as she tickled my belly in a way I might describe as 'très agréable' her husband warned Gail to keep a close eye on me, as wife yearns for a dog and he said there was a danger I might be kidnapped.
You know what, I am thinking, would it really be so bad to be kidnapped by a French geologist and maybe end up living close to the Pyrenees?
I am imagining a life spent hiking in the dramatic mountain landscapes, enjoying croissants for petit dejeuner, a selection of smelly fromages for lunch and maybe cassoulet cooked with generous quantities of goose fat for dinner.
Gail could still come to visit and perhaps even fulfil a lifetime ambition of cycling up the Col du Toumalet.
Who knows, I could get the chance to visit my blogging friends Bob and Sophie and thank them properly for sending me that comfy soft collar earlier in the year.
Oh and if I stay in France long enough, that nice young Monsieur Macron might yet permit me to retain my precious EU passport?
For some reason, when we reached the summit, Gail seemed keen to hold me tight …
… and was reluctant to let me get too close to the French couple (that's them, sat behind me in the picture below, sheltering from the inevitable wind).