Paw wash imminent...

In truth, these days, following my visit to veterinary dermatologist Peter Forsythe in April, a paw wash is ALWAYS imminent, even when I have been walking across ground that is nowhere near as muddy as that pictured above.  And it's not just a gentle rinse, but a thorough working over, focusing on making sure the deep clefts between my paw pads are clear of mud and grit.

The good news is that I have been free of those horrid interdigital cysts, which made my (and Gail's) life a such misery earlier this year, for over six months now. Cross paws that things stay this way through the winter.

Gail says Dr Forsythe is already her clear choice for Man of the Year.

Guy Fawkes Night in Alligin

My predecessor Hamish the Westie hated fireworks with a vengeance and so would noisily and at length object to the traditional 5th November Guy Fawkes Night celebrations. Me, I've never had a problem with all those whizzes and bangs and so was happy to accompany Gail to Inveralligin yesterday evening, where between heavy showers, the rituals of an old fashioned Bonfire Night were being observed.

What the pictures don't capture are the echoes of the rockets reverberating around the mountains, the speckled reflections of the fireworks on the waters of Loch Torridon, and the whisky-fuelled conviviality of the locals huddled together in the nearby shelter.

The one bit I didn't like was the dark walk home to the cottage, finding our way along the rough wet track with only Gail's failing wind-up torch for illumination. I stumbled a couple of times and thought I might have been carried, but no such luck...

Torridon life: walking and woofing

OK, so come on Gail, I'm ready.

Look this is the way to the front gate.

Why must you put on my lead before we exit the cottage garden?

Oh. Sheep.

Well at least I can bark at them. No?

Gail stop staring at the clouds. I'm sure it's not going to rain. We're not turning back anyway.

Uh oh. I am not going to cross this cattle grid on my own. I don't care if Hamish would have managed it. I want to be carried.

Thank you.

Great, so no sheep this side. You can take my lead off now.

BTW, why isn't it called a sheep grid?

Don't flap, I promise I'll stay close. We'll hear in plenty of time if a car's coming.

Stop! I could swear I spotted a frog right here.

Wow, that house has changed shape quite radically since we last walked past. What a huge window.

Oh yawn, Gail, I'm sure nobody cares that it now belongs to a former Labour cabinet minister.

Ah, I remember now, the path back through the trees is this way.

IF I'VE TOLD YOU ONCE I'VE TOLD YOU A THOUSAND TIMES. DON'T TAKE PICTURES WHILE I'M HAVING A PEE.

One day I'll figure out how to get through this kissing gate by myself.

Hmm. A kissing gate. If only Addi were here...

Race you home Gail!

River Deep Mountain High

One of my all time favourite short walks is along the footpath which leads eastwards from our Wester Alligin cottage over to the slightly larger lochside settlement of Inveralligin. You can enjoy views of Loch Torridon and the mountains to the south, and the path is gentle and generally easy on the paws.

I expect that those folk who promote Scotland as a tourist destination would prefer that I show you photos of this lovely walk taken on a dry and sunny day.

Well my friends, it is no secret that bright and rain-free days are few and far between in Northwest Scotland in November (or any other month, come to think of it).

So I feel that I shall be doing you a public service by showing you what the path was looking like last weekend, when Gail and I were over at the cottage and ventured out for a stroll during a brief interlude between heavy downpours.

I mean how else would you know that what to any sane dog would appear to be a stream, best avoided by water-averse chaps such as myself, is in fact the correct route to follow?

It all started just fine...

Wet, yes, but perfectly passable

Then for a moment I lost sight of the track

And when I found it again...

 

It looked like this...

We did eventually reach Inveralligin, without doubt a feat of exploration to match Stanley's arrival at the mouth of the River Congo. 

But you might not be surprised to learn that we decided to return via the road.

Oh and by the way, why is a stream known in Scotland as a 'burn'?

Surely it should be a 'drown'.