In praise of dark mornings

I get the impression from Gail that folk in Aberdeen – humans that is - don’t much like the dark winter months of these northern climes. They seem to think it a problem having to get up before sunrise.

I have a different view.

A mundane morning walk in the park becomes a big adventure; the familiar rendered unfamiliar by the cloak of darkness; one’s other senses heightened; one’s regular terrier alertness supercharged.

And I’ll tell you what’s even better.

It can happen that your human forgets to put on her glasses and also forgets to attach the pink light to your collar, and then, on reaching the park she lets you off your lead as usual, neglects to keep her eye on you as she ponders a work-related problem, and, joy of joys, she fails to notice that you have slipped away into a dense shrubbery and disappeared from view.

Selective deafness kicks in (the heightened senses having conveniently failed you at this juncture) as your human calls ‘with animation’* but to no avail, and it is not until you have nearly circumnavigated the park that your excited owner locates you again and firmly clips on the walking string.

Oh yes, gosh, early morning walks can be such fun!

I do hope Gail’s boss is properly appreciative of my role in ensuring that Gail is well and truly wide awake by the time she arrives at work. (A bonus payment would perhaps be appropriate?)

*I must thank my Down Under friends Stella and Rory for introducing me earlier this week to the concept of our humans calling "with animation".

Where's Bertie?

Yesterday morning in the snowy park (around 7:40 am).
Someone forgot to put on my flashing light.
If you can't see me, try biggifying the picture.
I am there.
Really.

A sad footnote from Gail. 
I expect some of you will remember the story about Hamish, the scones and the lace tablecloth. Readers in the UK will be aware that a helicopter crashed in Central London yesterday and the pilot, Peter Barnes, died. It was Peter Barnes' parents, lifelong close friends of Human Granny and Grandad, who gave them the Nottingham lace tablecloth as a wedding gift. So many memories. Such a tragedy.