What, no logs?

Just because it's a dreary day, that doesn't mean one has to stay indoors does it?

Gail and I were thrilled to once again join our friends M and J for a walk on Sunday.  We went to the Forvie National Nature Reserve.

I did have one moment of panic, when Gail made me stop and pose for some photos and I feared we might lose sight of M and J. Past experience has taught me that it is important in particular to keep track of the pink jacket, one pocket of which often contains generously sized dog treats...

Oh. Gail is questioning my commitment to staying with our little group, noting how at one point in the walk I set off at pace down a different track in pursuit of a lone jogger. 

Obviously, I only did this in my capacity as Gail's personal trainer, making sure her teenage sprinting skills had not been totally forgotten*. 

I'm afraid we didn't manage to add to the 'M and J sitting on a log' series on this particular walk, as the Nature Reserve is by the sea and comprises dunes and coastal heathland, with only a few low shrubs scattered thereabouts.

 
But I can offer some pictures of the coastline, dramatic even in the dull February weather.

P.S.  For those of you who can access BBC iPlayer, the Forvie Nature Reserve, long a favourite place of ours, features in this episode of Michael Portillo's 'Great Coastal Railway Journeys'.

*Gail notes: Bertie still has a mind of his own, but as he is now completely deaf, shouting is pointless and the only way I can retrieve him is to give chase! 

Wagging and waiting

Every morning for the past couple of months, Gail has been giving me a new pre-walk treat, a little brown tablet wrapped in grated cheese. I wait patiently while she prepares the treat, tail wagging in anticipation.

It tastes delicious and, gosh, ever since I've been getting these special goodies, I've been feeling quite the frisky young pup again. And Gail seems happier too. She claims she treasures every hour she spends with me, and this might be true up to a point, although I would note it did not stop her going out for a long bike ride with her friends on Saturday and leaving me home alone, all forlorn, for several hours...

However I am pleased to report that, after what I imagine was a sleepless night wracked with guilt* Gail took me out on Sunday to join her friends M and J, and we all enjoyed some quality time together, rambling around the sheltered lower reaches of Glen Tanar.

*Gail says: I think Bertie is referring here to what I experienced as eight solid hours of untroubled slumber.

A good day for waterfalls

The rain was lashing against the window of our cottage in the Northwest Highlands on Saturday morning and to be honest I would have been quite content to stay indoors in front of the fire all day.


For a while Gail did occupy herself with diary reading and writing, then at noon, this:

"Come on Bertie, there's only a few hours of daylight left. We really ought to get some fresh air and exercise. I know, let's go and check out the waterfalls around Loch Torridon, they will be looking quite impressive just now."

Having established that there was an adequate supply of 'posing treats' in Gail's jacket pocket, I reluctantly agreed to brave the ongoing downpour.








After a couple of hours, bedraggled and aware that Gail's pocket was now empty, I made it quite clear I'd had enough.


I hope you enjoyed looking at the pictures at least...

Who needs scales?

I just want you to know that when I went for my annual booster shot and general check up earlier this week, nice vet Lyndsey felt my body all over and said to Gail: "No need for me to put this fine chap on the scales. I can tell his weight is just perfect".

My paws were given a clean bill of health too.

Treats please!

Decisions, decisions….

You know how it is when you go for a Sunday afternoon walk with friends...

You pose nicely amidst the buttercups and speedwells...


You pose patiently while they text pictures of you to daughters in Denmark...


You pose gracefully beside the loch...


You even pretend to admire the water lilies while cooling your paws...


Then when they stop for a breather and a bite to eat, you are faced with a most dreadful dilemma.

Is it best to target Neil for treats...


Or will Yvonne prove the softer touch?


Tell me, how would you choose?

The Luib Hotel: my kind of place!

I don't know if you noticed, but I was not around very much last week.

Don't worry, nothing is amiss, in fact I was having the most splendiferous time.

I admit that at first I was a bit concerned when Gail told me we were going down to Stirlingshire to meet up with Aunty Yam for a couple of days.

No don't be silly, I was of course thrilled to hear we would be seeing Aunty Yam again. It was just that, well, one has low expectations of the weather in Scotland in mid-December.

I only hope the accommodation is up to snuff, I thought.

Well I am delighted to report that the Luib Hotel, near Killin, is simply the most brilliantly dog friendly establishment I have yet encountered in my extensive travels.

Gosh, where to begin?

It's promising isn't it, when the resident pup - a Patterdale terrier called Tilly -  is, shall we say, 'nicely rounded'.

It suggests the presence of a human who is generous with the treats. And so it proved.

And I found Jim the proprietor remarkably easy to train. If the treat supply failed, I only had to bark once or twice and he came running back bearing another handful of yummy biscuits. In fact, by the second day I wasn't even having to bark.

That's Jim and Mary, leaning by the bar

Jim's wife Mary was equally generous with the shoulder massages.

I was given the run of the lovely big bar and restaurant area. It was always a tough choice whether to settle beside the crackling log fire or over by Jim (and his treat supply) at the bar.

The bed was super-comfortable too, with plenty of room for Gail as well as myself.

Of course having Aunty Yam there made it even more special. She has the warmest of smiles, don't you think? And she bought me a brand new toy, something Gail scarcely ever does.

We did get out and about a bit but one has to say, the weather lived down to expectations...

Loch Tay, near Killin

General Wade's bridge, Aberfeldy (built in 1733)

The Watermill, Aberfeldy

And as you can see below, my paw problem flared up again, so I was not able properly to appreciate the interesting history associated with this ancient dwelling on Loch Tay.

 
All the more excuse to linger indoors enjoying the Luib Hotel's outstanding hospitality.

For some reason, now we are back in Aberdeen, I have been put on a diet (as well as medication to calm my sore and itchy paw).

PS You will want to click here to read what Aunty Yam has to say about the trip!

Bertie's analysis of why the NO's won

Who knew the anti-independence 'Better Together' campaign were so well organised?

What? You are surprised?

I'll tell you a wee story from Thursday morning.

Anxious to ensure Gail made it to the polling station before work, I hastened round the park.  A Bright New Dawn for Scotland was not looking likely...

Ferryhill Church Hall was just a short diversion from our usual route.

Dogs were not allowed inside and Gail was looking in vain for a suitable place to leave me. 

Before you could say "Barnett formula" a nice lady in a pink jacket decorated with 'No Thanks' stickers appeared out of nowhere. She kindly offered to mind me while Gail voted, assuring her she'd already looked after several other dogs that morning (although it was only 7:30 a.m.)

So Gail went in, and while she was trying to understand the instructions...

…I was enjoying lots of cuddles from the nice lady, who also had a generous supply of yummy treats in her pocket.

Surely, any campaign group that looks after voters' best friends so handsomely is well deserving of its victory?

Bertie clarifies the debate on North Sea oil reserves

Yesterday I overheard Gail talking to a friend.

"I can't believe how much rubbish is being written about Scotland's future North Sea oil reserves. Honestly, I think even Bertie has a better understanding of the issues involved than most of the media commentators".

For once I shall ignore Gail's rather insulting use of the word 'even' and take her statement at face value.

After all, I live in the heart of Europe's oil capital and my human, a geophysicist, has been engaged in the business on and off (mostly on) for over 30 years. Naturally, my keen and attentive flappy little ears have picked up a wealth of knowledge about the petroleum industry.

But I think it will help if, instead of oil and gas, we consider the subject in terms of doggy treats.

Got your attention, right?

Let us imagine that once upon a time, many millions of years ago, a huge number of doggy treats were  buried under the ground in deposits of varying size and depth. And that this would form the only local supply of treats ever available to dogs in the UK.

For years, no-one knew they were there, but one day, a basset hound caught a faint whiff of something interesting in a field. A passing Scottie noticed the hound sniffing the earth, and started digging. Lo and behold, he had discovered the UK's first treat hoard.

A border collie, observing the action, used her brain and figured out that there were likely more treat deposits scattered around, and hired a gang of scent hounds to sniff them out and terriers to do the excavation work.

Initially only the larger and shallowest deposits were found, but selective breeding of scent hounds with ever more treat-sensitive noses meant that medium sized treat stores could also be detected, and likewise terriers with bigger and bigger front paws made for ever more effective digging operations. Meanwhile, the increasing global population of dogs meant the market for treats grew and grew, increasing the value of each individual treat.

Naturally it was the canny border collies, in partnership with some poodles, who organised and ran the sale and distribution of the treats and made off with most of the profits, although they did have to pay an annual tribute to a gang of powerful German Shepherds and Rottweilers who also controlled the permits to dig.

No-one knew exactly how many dog treats were buried at the outset, and so estimates of the number left at any point varied considerably. The uncertainty was compounded when the task of calculating remaining treat reserves was sub-contracted to a litter cross-bred from a Bulldog and a Shih Tzu……..*

It was also unclear if, as locally sourced treats became scarcer and scarcer, people would be prepared to pay ever more to extract them, or if they would look to overseas treat supplies instead. And no-one was certain whether further selective breeding could improve performance of the terriers and the scent hounds sufficiently to locate and dig out the remaining small or more deeply buried deposits. The cost of maintaining these precious (in every sense of the word) specialists was already going through the kennel roof.

One dog who without doubt understood all this was an Aberdeen-based billionaire treat magnate, a border collie known as 'Woody'.  Although Woody's judgement had in recent years been called into question when he attempted to move beyond his core expertise and started trying to design a city centre dog park, no-one questioned his deep knowledge of the complexities of the treat business.

And so when he said that there are not so many treats left as a certain power hungry but deceitful Gordon Setter named Alex had claimed (based on so-called 'expert advice' from a grovelling lapdog), then we can all agree that Woody should be believed.

All clear now, I trust.


*Blame Her from Scotsmad for this one…

In general I do not approve of bicycles...

…but I will admit it is nice that Gail's favourite Spring training route takes her past my favourite shop.

Yes, the concept of the bicycle as carrier of dog treats does make one look more favourably on this otherwise tiresome mode of transport.

Getting things straight…or not

Are you a head tilter?

I most certainly am not.

Between you and me, a certain person wasted quite a lot of time last night trying to get a photo of me cocking my head to one side to illustrate this blog post, but she signally failed because it's something I just don't do.

So why bring the topic up at all, I hear you ask.

Well, Gail and I were snuggled up together the other evening, listening to our favourite radio science programme, 'The Infinite Monkey Cage' (co-presented by her 'friend' Professor Brian Cox) and, in the course of a fascinating discussion about perception and neuroscience, we heard a wee snippet about head tilting in mammals.

Apparently, one theory for why we do this (or not) is because: "it will change your perception a little bit and will give you a bit more information. It will give you some understanding that was not previously available."

Cue a consultation with Professors Google and Wikipedia, which quickly revealed two additional competing theories relevant to dogs:

(1) Heads are tilted to improve hearing by lifting ear flaps away from earholes (leading to the prediction that the behaviour would be less common in dogs with pricked ears)

or

(2) It is learned behaviour, an adaptive response to the fact that human find the cocked head gesture "too cute" and reward the dogs with attention and treats.

So, my canine friends, I am wondering if, and under what circumstances, you move your head out of alignment with the rest of your body? Is it when you have a reasonable expectation of a treat, when you are finding it difficult to hear, or when you are trying to figure out something you don't quite understand? Or for some other reason? And by the way, are your ears upright or dangling?

As ever, with my Bertie Boffin hat on, I shall do my best to analyse any data you provide, using advanced multivariate analysis and general linearised statistical models as appropriate, and I shall report my findings in due course.

Email from Cousin Cocoa Standard Poodle

No soon as I'd clicked 'publish' on my last post, than I received this email, care of Gail:

Dear Cousin Bertie, 

Re: your recent visit

I hate to rain on your parade and all that, but I am wondering why no-one asked me to contribute to the 360º appraisal you published so brazenly on your blog on Wednesday. 

Most assuredly, I would NOT have awarded you full marks based on your behaviour when you came to stay with me and my brother Percy for a couple of nights a short while ago. 

I expect you were thinking that, because I am a relative newcomer to the set up, I would not venture to voice an opinion. How wrong you were.

Let me say I for one am quite happy you are now over three hundred miles away and not, I hope, planning a return visit any time soon. 

Imagine, readers, there's me, recently rescued from an endless round of pregnancies in a Norfolk puppy farm, just settling into my new Peak District home, getting a feel for the place, learning how to deal with my huge sibling Percy Poodle and generally working hard to adjust to a different routine, when along comes this wee whippersnapper of a wire haired fox terrier, bouncing around and growling at me all the time in an incomprehensible Scottish accent.

Oh yes and then there was the small matter of the night-time pooping on the kitchen floor, wasn't there Bertie?

Ten out of ten? I think not.

I am going to recommend that Gail holds the marshmallows and duck jerky a while longer. 

Yours faithfully, 
Cocoa. 

Really. Who knew my new cousin was such a little tell tale?

PS from Gail: Human resources professionals worldwide, take note. These last two posts of Bertie's provide an excellent example of how even the most supposedly objective methods of performance review are subject to bias and manipulation...

Parklife (and prison)

Can you believe we had yet more snow this week?

At least it's now light for my 7:30 am daily visit to the park. 

First thing I do on arrival is, of course, to check out my favourite shrubs.

Somewhere a bit further on I usually meet up with the regulars.

Of course I know who is a soft touch for treats.

I have found it pays to be persistent (something that comes naturally to us terriers, of course). And see how slim my waist looks in the pic below. Almost emaciated, wouldn't you say? Surely in such chilly weather I need more food...

But Gail is always going "Bertie, hurry up, we don't have all day, some of us have to work for a living, blah blah, blah...". So I must say goodbye to my pals and run along.

Back near the park gates, I stop and wait.

And if I sit and try to look my cutest, I often score another treat AND a nice ear scratch before Gail reattaches my lead and together we walk along the street and back home.

Well sadly I shall be missing the park for the next two weeks as Gail will be away in France for her Easter cycling holiday, and I must yet again endure prison camp.

So this blog will be quiet for a while.

Normal service will resume round about the time that new pups Bob and Sophie arrive chez Angus and 'the font'. Gosh I am SO looking forward to reading about their adventures.