Borderline inappropriate...

Gosh as if it wasn't bad enough, putting up with my Aberdeen home being invaded by two giant poodles a short while back...

So last weekend Gail took me over to the Torridon cottage, a place where a chap can normally look forward to a bit of peace and quiet. Imagine my surprise and consternation then, when I arrived to find two strangers - and their associated humans - already occupying my living room!

The big fellow is Jasper, a labradoodle apparently (although it seems he never got the memo about doodle types being 'non-shedding').

The wee schnauzer is Frankie, or Mr Goody Two-Shoes as I now think of him. To be honest, one can hear the words "my, he is such a perfectly behaved dog, isn't he just?" once too often when those words are not directed towards oneself...

Jasper seems a decent enough chap, although on Saturday I did notice him getting a bit frisky in the closing stages of our hike through Coire Dubh and Coire Mhic Nobuil, and trying to jump on Gail is a manner that I later told him I considered borderline inappropriate...

Finally, I would like to point out that, of the three of us, I was the only pup brave enough to bark at the stag whom we found hanging around in the Glen Torridon car park at the start of our walk. I was most disappointed when Gail hastily removed me from the scene after the stag made as if to head butt us with his antlers. Even though it was certainly not me who was acting all scared...

But what about ME!

To start with I was being patient when Gail insisted on taking loads of non-Bertie shots over in Torridon at the weekend...

It was all: "Oh Bertie, just look at trees glowing burnished gold in the late autumn light, the rainbow arching over the loch, the sprinkling of new snow topping the mountains, the handsome stag auditioning for a Landseer painting, oh and wow more rainbows ..."

...but enough is enough, frankly one can only put up with so much of this kind of thing, and I had to bounce over to remind her of the importance of 'foreground interest'...

Now this is more like it. 

[Gail and I did wonder if maybe we should be posting some photos of the less attractive corners of Scotland today, 'cos we heard that if a certain D.Trump loses a certain election on the other side of the Pond, then he is planning to spend more time in this country, and I'll be straight with you, we really don't want him here, ruining our glorious wild landscape with more of his hideous hotels and pesticide-drenched golf courses.]

P.S. Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to contribute valuable data for my latest research project. I am currently analysing all the fascinating information provided, and will be presenting my Pee-hD thesis within the next two weeks.

P.P.S. Eight years ago, my wise predecessor Hamish the Westie posted this:  http://hamishthewestie.blogspot.co.uk/2008/11/trumped.html

The Torridon Olympics: false claims exposed

By Loch an Eion, after an unplanned dip in the burn

I can't tell you how often I've heard Gail going on about how she was some sort of a sprinter, back in the day.

Well last weekend I decided it was time to put these claims to the test. After all, the London Olympics will soon be upon us, and I fear that white-skinned fiftysomething females are currently under-represented in the Team GB 100 meters squad.

Let me describe the two trials, conducted in the vicinity of Loch Torridon:

1. On the stalkers path from Annat to Loch an Eion. I wanted to check if Gail could run as fast as me when I was attempting to chase a red deer stag up a steep incline through the heather. Result:

Gold Medal: the Stag
Silver Medal: Bertie
Bronze Medal: Gail

2. On the gently sloping road up from the side gate of the Wester Alligin cottage to a small enclosure 200m away, where some sheep were grazing peacefully. If I slipped out though the gate (when carelessly left ajar), could Gail reach me before I reached the sheep? Result:

Gold Medal: Donnie the crofter who erected the sheep enclosure's terrier-proof fence
Silver Medal: Bertie
Bronze Medal: Gail

Oh dear Gail. Those legs of yours aren't quite as fast as you like to think, are are they?

Never mind. We're still pals, eh?

At rest in front of our cottage, besides Hamish's memorial stone