Walk on by.....

I had an early morning date at Hazlehead Park with my Westie friend Rosie. 

I hoped to impress her with my smart winter attire.

Do you think I succeeded? 

 

It's been an eventful week...

Really, I don't know why the humans are moaning about the latest 'lockdown' here in Scotland.

No-one can claim that "nothing ever happens" and "every day is the same" when they live with a wire-haired fox terrier...

After my exciting Christmas adventure on Sunday, Gail and I met up for a walk with her friend Ian - aka the 'Oil Man' - and his wee Westie Rosie. Do you remember five years ago when I first met Rosie?

[If not, see 'Meeting with Westie Puppy Rosie']

Well she's now an adorable five year old, and her little legs kept pace with mine, no problem, as we ascended Scolty Hill.

Then yesterday, another walk was planned, this time with Gail's friends J and F, their son Jamie and his border collie Hemp.

OK, so there is, er, 'history' between myself and Hemp, but we've tended to rub along fine together when we've met outdoors.

Not so yesterday I'm afraid.

The ground was crunchy with frost in the Warren Wood car park, where I was waiting patiently for Hemp and his family to arrive.

But no soon as they'd all climbed out of the car than there was an altercation involving Hemp and me. 

Suddenly, Hemp had me by the scruff of my neck and both of us were snarling angrily.  Jamie, a strong and brave young man, pulled Hemp away, at the price of a deep puncture wound in his right finger*. I was shaking badly, so Gail picked me up and gave me a close cuddle, while checking me for injuries. Soon I calmed down - it was only my pride that had been hurt. Hemp too appeared unscathed, but for poor Jamie it was a trip to A&E to get the wound checked over. 

So Jamie's dad took Jamie to the hospital and Hemp back home, while Jamie's mum accompanied Gail and I for the planned walk around the woods. That's her in the background, texting Jamie to see if they'd reached the hospital yet...

Half way round we met a group of four more border collies and that encounter passed off without incident.

At least it all distracted Gail from fretting about whether my Christmas sweater was getting muddy...

Do you think Hemp might have been jealous of my jumper?

*Gail says: The incident with Hemp all happened so quickly that we cannot be sure whether Hemp or Bertie was responsible for Jamie's hand injury, although the depth of wound perhaps implicates the larger dog. The good news is that Jamie was seen quickly at the hospital, and received thorough and exemplary treatment. His injured finger was x-rayed, cleaned, disinfected and dressed. No broken bones were detected, nor stitches needed. Jamie was given a tetanus jab and antibiotics, and will go back in a couple of days for a check-up. I'm afraid his hand will be sore for a while. Rest assured, we will keep the dogs apart in future. 

Bertie needs a break...

Look, just because your human is friends with someone, it doesn't necessarily follow that you have to get on with that someone's dog, does it?

I'll be frank with you. I like my set-up, living in a nice house, just Gail and me.

When Gail said, "Oh Bertie, won't it be fun, we're having wee Rosie the Westie to stay for a couple of days, you'll like that won't you?" I wasn't given any choice in the matter.

Because I'm a polite chappie, I refrained from any overt actions displaying my displeasure at having to share my living space. There wan't any snarling, baring of teeth or outright aggression.

I hope my body language conveyed my feelings.

(Gail says: "Don't worry Bertie, it did!")

Well you too might object if your customary quiet evening, relaxing on the sofa with your nose on your human's lap, was disturbed by a very insistent little Westie snout poking across from the other side of the sofa and constantly demanding attention.

I think I successfully made my point by playing with my Westie stuffie and trying my best to ignore Rosie altogether.

And if Rosie was at all perturbed at the sight of her stuffed toy counterpart missing part of its face, well that's no skin off my nose...

Artemis the Westie

So we have a new dog in the Duthie Park. A fluffy white Westie pup, all of three months old.

Nothing remarkable about that, I hear you say. And indeed it is true there is no shortage of cute wee Westies (and some larger and grumpier ones) in these parts.

But this new friend does have one unusual feature: her name!  None of your common or garden  Kirsties or Floras or Mollies for this little lady.

"Artemis! How very distinguished!" Gail exclaimed, and I experienced a brief pang of jealousy, wishing for a moment that I was named after a rather awesome Greek deity.

When folk hear my name, the most common response is thus.

"Bertie? Oh yes, he looks like a Bertie!"

And what's more, it is said in a voice which suggests the person is suppressing a gentle chuckle, hardly calculated to make a chap feel important or distinguished. 

What do people say when they learn your name for the first time?

PS We do not have a photo of Artemis, so you will have to make do with yet another picture of me in the park, taken a couple of weeks ago - there are far more leaves on the trees now.

Après le déluge...

So at first light, with the skies clear of rain for the first time in a week, Gail and I went down to the Dee to inspect the damage.

What a good thing no-one fell asleep on the riverside (now mid-river) bench!

The boathouse is still underwater, but thankfully nobody lives there.

Our walk took us on to Sainsbury's, where I spotted snow on car roofs.

Gail rejected, with uncharacteristic ill humour, my suggestion that she drive inland to find some snow for me to play around in. "Haven't you seen the pictures in the papers Bertie? If you think I'm getting in the car again any time soon after last night's terrifying journey home from work, you've got another think coming... " 

So I had to content myself with a walk back along the old railway line, and saying Happy New Year to my Westie pal Dougie, who seemed mighty proud of his new Royal Stuart tartan coat.

And then in was time to return home, before the rain starts again...

Meeting with Westie Puppy Rosie

The way Gail's been going on, anyone would think I have a reputation for behaving badly with tiny puppies…

"Er Bertie, you do have a reputation for behaving badly with the little pups. Remember how you bullied Daisy Dachshund at puppy class? And how you terrorised Bunty the Border terrier the first time she came round here when she was only three months old? As for the way you growled, really quite aggressively, at those two chihuahuas in the park the other day…."

Gail, please stop interrupting me when I am composing my blog post about my visit to your friend the Oil Man and his new Westie pup, nine week old Rosie.

Now as I was saying, it seems I have this reputation, so I want you to watch this video carefully (with the sound turned up) and count how many times words like "best behaviour", "good dog" and "impressed" are used with reference to myself. The voices are those of the Oil Man and Gail. Oh and cricket fans might pick up some background commentary from Test Match Special at the start.

For those readers who don't have time to watch a video, I have also posted some photos below. Although really, you should be rethinking your priorities in life shouldn't you, if you can't spare a mere ninety-five seconds to watch your favourite wire-haired fox terrier interacting with an indescribably cute Westie puppy?

It was such fun meeting Rosie. I do hope I see lots more of her in the future.

PS Gail, should we tell them about the emergency phone call from the Oil Man, half an hour before we were due there, asking if we had any newspaper?

Roughty Toughty Torridon Terrier

So Gail spotted this "cute wee Westie" when we stopped off in Nairn, en route to Torridon last Friday.

"Look at her Bertie, isn't she adorable, oh do come over here so I can take a photo of the both of you".

You can imagine what I thought of that idea.

So much more interesting to contemplate how this line of snow formed on the Nairn beach, right?

But Gail didn't want to help me investigate this fascinating natural phenomenon. It was all "oh look Bertie, there's Molly again, isn't her red and white sweater just perfect. It almost makes me want to dig out my rusty knitting needles...."

Well I'm pleased to say that when we reached Torridon I had ample opportunity to remind Gail that I am a roughty toughty terrier, and not designed to prance around on the beach in some fancy and not even waterproof coat.

 

Those knitting needles can stay in the boxroom!

A walk with the 'OIL' man

We went for a lovely walk in the hills with Gail's friend Ian this weekend. 

Wow his car is a bit smarter (and cleaner) than Gail's ...

See how I am gazing in admiring fashion at Ian.

Of course, I didn't neglect to remind Gail that I adore her the most.

And here I am at the top of the big hill, receiving in return the attention that is my due.

(We are sitting in a wind shelter. You often find these little stone constructions at the top of hills in Scotland, as up high it is almost always blowing a gale and so walkers need somewhere to shelter and eat their squashed sandwiches and drink their flasks of coffee. They are great places to sniff out scraps of left overs.)

Normally, we'd expect to meet mountain hare and ptarmigan up here, but it seemed they were being shy so it was just us and the occasional noisily flapping red grouse.

At the end of the day, we came down off the hills and into a pretty birch wood. The grass was so soft on the paws, like a deep pile carpet, a relief after all the stones higher up.


The humans appeared to be slowing down a bit. Well you know, they're not as young as when they first met, a quarter of a century ago!  Whereas me, I am now in the full bloom of youth, at one with the fresh green leaves dancing on the birch trees, and the bluebells, violets and delicate speedwells newly bursting through the undergrowth. (Sorry there are no photos of the flowers. Blame Gail.)

So anyway I sat down patiently to wait.

And when the others caught up I remembered to wag my tail and say "thank you" politely to Ian for such a nice day out.

PS You might recall that last summer I stayed briefly with Ian and his two gorgeous Westies, Florrie and Lucy. I was most disappointed that the Westies didn't come along today, and rather worried. But it's all OK.  Gail explained that, 'cos Ian is mostly working abroad at the moment (in Yemen, yikes!) the 'girls' have gone to stay temporarily with his son who lives in the Channel Islands, and are having a splendid time with beach walks every day. Here they are, about to board the plane on their way out to Guernsey.

I do hope I see them again some time.

A new mug. About time.

Er Gail, now that we're all nice and cosy snuggled up together in the warmth, can I have quiet word?

Yes of course Bertie, what's on your mind, I'm listening. 

Well it's just that I've noticed you have a new coffee mug, and I want to tell you how much I like it.

Oh Bertie, you mean this one I guess, the one with 'wirehaired fox terrier' written on, and a picture of a fine handsome WFT face? 

Yes that's the one.

I get the sense there's more you want to say Bertie?

Yes Gail, there is.  You see Gail, I've been living in this house all these months, and everywhere I look it's been Westie this and Westie that.  Mugs, wall hangings, stuffed toys, ornaments, cards, fridge magnets, you name it....  Can't you see, it's been a little hard, surrounded by all these Hamish look-a-likes, not to worry just a wee bit that you think I'm second best?

Oh Bertie. Bertie Bertie Bertie.  Oh I am so sorry.  I had no idea you felt like that. I admit that when Hamish was here, I loved him more than words can say.  But now you've come along, and I've found a new and huge and special place in my heart for loving you just as much.  As for all those Westie knick-knacks, it's very simple.  It seems every other shop in Scotland sells something with a Westie picture on it; they're sort of the national dog.  The only reason we don't have a house full of fox terrier stuff is that it's much harder to come by. 

So where did you get the new mug from then?

Well Bertie, we're very lucky that Marie-Thérèse lives with us and is so clever at finding nice things on the internet. She gave me the mug as a birthday present last week.

Oh I might have guessed.  She is so thoughtful.  Where is she?  I want to give her another cuddle right now.  Just after I've had a sip of your coffee that is.....

PS Gail wants me to point out that I wasn't actually drinking her coffee, it was the 'dog beer' that my friend George sent me a while back. It was totally dee-lish!

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....