Inshriach 2021 Report: New friends and old!

So I've decided Hemp's not such a bad chap after all.

I mean, I'm not saying we're ever going to be best buddies. But it turns out that if a house has an abundance of generously sized rooms, and is surrounded by glorious open countryside ideal for long walks, then there is space enough for both a lively young border collie and an occasionally grumpy wire fox terrier to coexist peaceably enough for a few days.

What Gail didn't tell me before we arrived at the Inshriach House gathering was that another former adversary, Max, and his new 'sister' Bonnie (in the smart red coat) would also be present.

Only very long time readers will remember Max. I met him on our Inshriach visit in March 2011, when he rather thrillingly killed a chicken belonging to the owner of the big house, and thus generously diverted attention from any misdemeanours I might have committed that weekend.

Time's winged chariot speeds on and Max, two years my senior, is now both deaf and blind, his arthritis limits his movement and his hen chasing days are well behind him. All he really wants now out of life is for everyone to be his friend.

Also a bit of a shock at this annual gathering of mostly older adults was the appearance of three young children. Now neither Gail nor I are much accustomed to the company of energetic human youngsters and, bright and adorable though they undoubtedly are, it took us both a while to adjust...

I must say I was rather grateful that the children's preferred targets for attention were the other three dogs present and they mostly let me alone. Possibly Gail had said something about my, er, 'leaky' bladder and this put them off, although I'm pleased to say that my tartan belly band was widely admired and no-one present, not even Hemp, was inclined to mock.

So I enjoyed lots of long rambles through the woods by day...

...and by night I was never short of an amenable human to cuddle up against. 

It was in fact, all in all, a lovely few days, and Gail and I want to say a huge Thank You to our dear friends John and Françoise for organising the gathering and inviting us once again.

Pre-chewed biscuit

Gail has pointed out that I have been very remiss in not telling you about Human Granny who, after all, was the main reason we spent the Christmas period in Nottingham.

Well I am so pleased to report that she remains in good spirits, and was able to come with Gail and me to visit Human Uncle Max and his family (poodles included) on Christmas day.

I also visited HGY's care home several times, and enjoyed getting to know some of the other residents.

There is a corner of the living room where the old ladies who are "not quite so on-the-ball as Human Granny" sit. This area, I've learned, is always worth a good nose around.

One morning I timed my tour of duty to perfection and arrived just as coffee and biscuits were being served. A nice lady patted me and gave me half a Custard Cream. So then the lady next to her decided she too wanted to give me a treat, and kindly attempted to toss an already part-masticated Bourbon biscuit in my direction. I hope no-one thinks I am being guilty of "girls can't throw" gender stereotyping when I tell you that this particular resident was not accurate in her aim. So the goo-ified biscuit landed in the other lady's lap. How fortunate that I was on hand, ready and willing to jump up and promptly dispose of the sticky mess.

Gail adds: And how fortunate also that no coffee was spilled and that the care assistant supervising operations had a GSOH. 

Not the real Stade de France?

So when Gail told me she was a bit worried 'cos her brother Max is going to a football game at the Stade de France in a couple of week's time, I was, frankly, puzzled.

But Gail, I said, we pass by the Stade de France every Friday on our extended 'day off' morning walk. Surely there is nothing to be concerned about, except possibly your brother's sanity in wanting to come to Aberdeen to watch a bunch of overweight amateurs play five-a-side football on an artificial pitch?

Imagine how put out I was to learn that the ground pictured above is not the real Stade de France.

It seems that Max will be going to Paris in early July to see a Euro 2016 quarter final, and there are fears about terrorism at the tournament.

I think it would be nice if Max (and his wife Kathy, and their poodles Percy and Coco) came to visit Aberdeen instead and joined Gail and me on our Friday walk.

PS: Thank you to those who took part in the poll to decide whether or not my furs should remain in place. In the end the Outs shaded it by a single vote (a foretaste of the 23 June result, one fears?) No-one will be at all surprised to learn that Gail was attacking me with the stripping implement even before the final vote was cast…

Bertie post strip/trim

PPS: Hi to all our friends who attended the Blogville Awesome Retreat. Oh how we wish we could have been there too.

Florrie and Lucy - out of my league?

Oh I am so excited, although also a little apprehensive.

Excited 'cos my Westie girlfriends have sent me a letter to let me know they are back home in Aberdeen. Apprehensive 'cos, as you will see when you read their letter, they are now accustomed to a jet-setting lifestyle and I fear they will find me dull and provincial.

Here is Florrie and Lucy's letter, with photos: 

Dear Bertie,
Just a note from your friends Florrie and Lucy to let you know we are home again, back in Aberdeen. Our human Ian (we think you call him 'Oilman') has finally returned from Yemen and at long last collected us from Jon and Kate (his older son and daughter-in-law) in Guernsey where we have been living since Feb 2011. Rather than putting us in a box and leaving us sitting around for hours in airports, Ian said this time he would get Max (his younger son and now a pilot with Ryanair), to fly us home instead. It was all very exciting when Ian took us to a tiny airport and we sat in a room surrounded by little - but posh - aircraft. 

In the airport lounge

We didn't have to wait long as our aircraft arrived right outside and Max opened the door and let us all in. We were soon airborne and heading north back towards home. 

Lucy airborne

Pilot Max and proud (and not at all nervous) father Ian 

It was rather noisy, and cold (Florrie had both blankets) but before long we were landing in Liverpool and then into a car and home. We caught up on our sleep on the way, it's a good job as we finally arrived back in Aberdeen at 3.00 am. As you can see, we were soon back in our positions on the sofa having a good lookout for the local cat (also confusingly called Max). 

Florrie and Lucy home at last

It's lovely to be home, even though we sometimes miss those splendid beach walks in Guernsey, but we are after all not called West Highland Terriers for nothing! 

Florrie and Lucy back in their natural habitat

Cheerio,
Florrie and Lucy.

I had been planning, before this letter arrived, to invite 'the girls' to join me for a walk, but now I am worried that they will have grown too grand for that sort of thing. Maybe if I offered to take them round the Queen's Balmoral estate? (We could always enter at the Ballochbuie Forest end where you don't have to pay.....)

Readers, please, your ideas for how to handle this delicate social situation would be most welcome!

The Not So Silent Rooms ....

I expect you all want to know what else I got up to during my time at Inshriach House (see previous post) and if I behaved myself.

Well. 

I went on lots of snowy walks with the humans. 

I am now (almost) always well behaved on walks. Except of course when there are Highland cattle to scare away.

Indoors, I concentrated on looking adorable.

Which worked quite well, especially on Lyn.

This fellow Max joined us on day two. Only problem was, he seemed to be under the impression that he was some kind of a Top Dog. Which of course was JUST NOT TRUE. 

As I told him loud and often. 

We did make friends in the end, after a fashion.  Well, at least for as long Gerry had treats to dish out. 

Talking of dishes, boy, you will not believe how much those humans ate. 

And after dinner we all settled down in the comfy sitting room.

Well I was comfy, anyway...

On Sunday night we listened to Sean read one of his intriguing ghost stories *. The title of the tale was 'The Silence Room'. Was someone trying to make a subtle point about my barking, I later wondered...?

I have to admit I was not the quietest member of the party...

Also, to continue in confessional mode, I did, er, 'dampen' the hall floor a couple of times.

And, I now want to formally apologize to Lyn, for objecting so strongly to her riding in the passenger seat of the Mini. Had I only realized what a fine lap she has, I would most certainly have been gentler on her wrist...

Yes, I must concede that my behavior was not at all times perfect.

However, the fact that the owner of the house will be tucking into a delicious casserole one night this week, made from a freshly killed and very local chicken, has, I want to point out, absolutely nothing to do with me. No, the culprit shall remain nameless.

And you would think that butter wouldn't melt in his mouth....

PS Watch out for my next post, which will be my long awaited important scientific publication on climate change.

*The Silence Room, by Sean O'Brien