Not the dog I was a week ago...

Do you remember me telling you back in January about how this winter I was the subject of a very important scientific experiment relating to my furs?

Instead of the normal 'little and often' hand stripping of my wiry hair, which is Gail's usual practice, this year she decided to leave my coat untouched all winter (other than a trim round the eyes now and then) to test the theory that come Spring the furs would be so loosely attached that the dreaded stripping process would be painless both for me and for Gail's increasingly arthritic thumbs.

As you know, I live in Northern Scotland, and if you are thinking that early March is these parts scarcely counts as Spring, well you would be perfectly right about that.

Ignoring this important fact, Gail set too with the stripping knife on Saturday. It was five whole months since I was last stripped and, well, I guess she kind of got carried away...



As I munched my way through two pig's ears and one medium sized  Pedigree Jumbone, a whole 6 oz of furs were detached from my person.

After another session on Sunday morning, I was most thankful when Gail finally called a halt, having spotted a couple of bare patches on my saddle. (The black furs are thinner than the white, and always come away more easily).

The brilliant news is that my paws are feeling ever so much better, and to celebrate this, as well as the completion of my mammoth grooming session, on Sunday afternoon I was taken on a 'proper' walk, my first in ages, up Scolty Hill.

Gosh it was nice to have a real leg stretch, although, given my sudden loss of insulation, I was a mighty relieved that the storm clouds gathering in the west passed us by.

PS Gail says we are not going to repeat the experiment next winter, having learned that when my coat gets longer and thicker it is much more effort to brush, collects more dirt, and when damp smells more 'doggy' (although I fail to see how that last point is a Bad Thing)..

Where were all you Lhasa Apsos?

Well I'm pleased to report that my eye is fine, and Gail has advised me not to dwell on the week's other medical 'issue'. Let's just say that the washing machine has been working overtime, in line with my bowel movements....

Instead I'm going to tell you all about today's walk, our annual outing with the Grampian Tibet Support Group. 

This is the fourth year running I have participated in this sponsored walk, and you know what struck me today? 

Yes that's right. Where are all the Tibetan pups? Do they not support their country's fight for independence? I mean, any park in Aberdeen is awash with Lhasa Apsos and Shih Tzus. We see the occasional Tibetan Terrier, and I feel sure that there must be a few Tibetan Spaniels and Mastiffs in NE Scotland too. Yet over the years the only dogs I've seen join this special walk have been collies, Labradors and retrievers. Oh and maybe there was a border terrier one time. 

Well today I was the only dog of any breed taking part, which of course guaranteed plenty of welcome attention. 

Earlier Gail had suggested that, as I hadn't been well, I might not be up to the planned nine miles and we would have to turn back if  I showed signs of flagging. 

Me. Flag? 

I don't think so Gail. 

The only flag involved today was the Tibetan flag which members of the group draped from the top of the tower on  Scolty Hill. 

For some, this was the day's highlight, but oh my gosh, from my perspective, something far more exciting happened as we were about to have our picnic lunch.

Do any of my readers recognise this incredibly gorgeous Sheltie?

Yes of course, it's Pippa, my only Aberdonian dog blogging friend, out with her assistant Eve and the rest of the family, who just happened to have chosen the same spot for their Sunday walk. It's Pippa's 2nd birthday tomorrow. I do hope she's going to get some nice presents and tell us all about it.  

I was so thrilled by this chance encounter that I bounced all the way back to the car park. 

What a great day! 

A walk with John prompts memories of Hamish...

Yesterday evening, I went for a walk with Gail and her friend John. It was my first ever hill walk! (Just a little hill, admittedly. Scolty, near Banchory, 299m high).

Before we went, Gail gave me a long lecture about how, if I were to be let off the lead, I had to promise faithfully to stay really close to her, and not go running off anywhere.

Well, I really couldn't quite understand what she was getting so uptight about. I always stay close by when we go somewhere new. Why all the fuss? I tilted my head to one side, giving her my best quizzical look, and in return was told this story about Gail's former dog, Hamish the Westie.

It all happened one Sunday, in October 1999, when Hamish was just three years old. It was only a few weeks after Gail had adopted him. He was a lively, energetic chap in those days, and loved roaming in the hills. Anyway, on this particular Sunday, Gail had met up with the same friend, John, for an afternoon walk. Another chap, Frederic, a former colleague from Belgium came along too. The plan was to go up Bennachie, a well-known Aberdeenshire landmark.

Well, as those of you who knew Hamish will be aware, he was a dog who liked to sniff just about everything. That was his notion of a perfect walk. Frederic, who had spent time in the Belgian military, had other ideas, and favoured the 'route march' approach to Sunday afternoon outings. John too, likes a brisk pace. It was never going to work.

Well Hamish kept up quite well to start with, but gradually, as his sniffing-things to moving-forwards ratio increased, Frederic's patience wore thin. After about three miles, at a five way junction, Frederic and then John went striding off in one direction and Gail followed, not immediately realising that her dear little Westie was nowhere to be seen. A couple of hundred yards down the track, she suddenly looked back and panic set in. 'Oh my God where's Hamish?' She rushed back to the junction, closely followed by John and Fred.

They searched and searched and searched the different tracks and into the woods and heather, calling Hamish's name, but all in vain. Gail was distraught. How could she have been so careless? And how little time it takes, she remembers thinking, to become so deeply attached to a dog.

Eventually they abandoned the search, went home and telephoned the Forest Ranger Service and the police, to report the lost dog. Then, just as John was suggesting that they go back and resume the search, and about four hours after Hamish first went missing, Gail received a phone call from Inverurie police station. Hamish had been brought in by a walker who had found him on top of a different hill, a mile or two from where he'd last been seen.

So the story had a happy ending. Gail drove the fifteen miles over to Inverurie and was greeted by a friendly policewoman. And there was Hamish, his little nose poking out from behind the bars of the police station cell, where the nice cops had provided him with a bowl of water and a couple of dog biscuits!

Well silly old Hamish, I say. He really should have been looking where his humans were going, shouldn't he? I can promise you after hearing this tale, I didn't let Gail and John out of my sight last night for even one fraction of a second, despite the fact that Gail insists that she has now learned from earlier mistakes and has also developed a sixth sense as to whether her dog is nearby or not.

But seriously, would you trust someone whose previous pet once ended a walk banged up in a police cell?

PS I don't think Gail ever mentioned this episode when trying to persuade my breeders that she was a fit person to 'own' a dog....