Bertie displays his competitive streak...

(The scene: a Saturday morning walk on Morven, our favourite Aberdeenshire hill)

So come on Gail, don't waste time looking at that boring old flower, we have a hill to climb!

Bertie, it is a cloudberry flower, and not boring at all. My book says the cloudberry plant is 'shy flowerer' in Britain. Anyway, what's the hurry?

Well Gail, we don't want that group of four men and one Labrador, who left their car just after we did, to overtake us, do we now? 

Bertie, frankly I couldn't care less. This is not a competition. Don't be so 'male' about it all. Just savour the moment, being out in our wonderful landscape on a fine midsummer day. To quote Nan Shepherd "... the mountain gives itself most completely when I have no destination, when I reach nowhere in particular, but have gone out merely to be with the mountain as one visits a friend with no intention but to be with him". And anyway, I think the Lab party took a different, less direct route up.

Er, yes Gail, of course, of course. Look, there's the summit, let's race!

Oh god, I'm having a flashback to childhood outings with my brother....

And now we're at the top, and the other group is nowhere in sight. Hooray! We won!

(Gail sighs).

(15-20 minutes later)

OK Bertie, that's enough of a break, time to move on, it's getting chilly.

No, no, no, look here are the others, finally! Maybe you can find out the name and age of the Lab? I bet he's younger than me.

(Gail talks to the humans while the dogs size each other up).

Well Bertie, you are right, 'Angus' is only two years old. Although I surmise that the accompanying humans are considerably older. But guess what? Angus's owner is most impressed at how quickly we ascended the steeper of the two routes up the hill. Happy now?

Totally happy, Gail, totally.

FFF: In his dreams...

This Friday we are once again taking part in YAM-Aunty's Final Friday Fiction challenge. Our prompts this month come from Nan Shepherd's 'The Quarry Wood', and the lines from page 87 are:

Line 8: But the full certainty of understanding
Line 12: Not little, for only thus could he endure
Line 16: So he grew, oft surrendering complete

Following the pattern set by our earlier efforts this year, this story is once again only part fictional...

A Narrow Escape?

Once upon a time a smart, handsome and utterly adorable fox terrier got wind of the fact that his human was planning to desert him in order to go jetting off overseas for the Christmas period.

At first he refused to believe that this could possibly true. But then he overheard a phone conversation in which the owner gave details of her credit card to 'Dothedogs Kennels', a notorious canine internment camp located deep in the forests of Aberdeenshire where the plaintive cries of temporarily abandoned pups could not be heard, and the full certainty of his predicament became clear.

Fortunately, this wily wiry fellow was, true to the terrier type, resourceful and determined. He formulated a plan to wheedle an invitation for Christmas in a warm house with friendly folk who understood the importance of a regular supply of tasty treats, a soft bed, frequent games of tickle and tug-of-war, and long walks in the hills at least every other day, for only thus could he endure the absence of his beloved human.

He immediately set about endearing himself to a soft-hearted neighbour, worming his way into her affections and onto her comfiest sofa with his cheerful and gently bouncy ways. He always made sure he looked his best and never ever rolled in deer poo or decomposing fish when in her company. Of course she could not resist his fuzzy little face, and when she heard of his imminent imprisonment, she cried:

"Oh please tell me this is not true! I cannot imagine how your human can think of surrendering you to such a vile place. No indeed, I absolutely insist you must come and spend the Festive Season at my house, where the treat jar is always full and  your every wish will be my command."

And so it came to pass, and the wire fox terrier lived happily ever after. At least in his dreams...