But where is all the mud?

I expect you will be looking at the picture above and thinking, "Whoa there Bertie, look at you galloping so carefree through the verdant forest - what a tip top time you're having".

And you would be right. Up to a point.

But something important was missing.

I searched high and low but I could not find it anywhere.


In the end I had to stop and ask.

"But Gail, where is all the mud?"


Normally, at this stage in the walk my paws should be nicely coated in a layer of the squelchy brown stuff and, on a good day I would be jumping into the car with a full set of stylish dark "socks" all the way up to my knees, enhancing my already much admired natural markings.

But no. In Aberdeen we have had almost no rain for weeks. This is most unnatural! One set of American visitors have returned home to the Seattle area under the mistaken impression that Scotland is a country blessed with many dry warm days and cloud-free skies.

Tomorrow we are heading across to Torridon for a short break.

It's always wetter on the West Coast. Surely I'll find some mud there?

Oh. Gail is telling me that wildfires not far from our cottage made the national news a few days ago.

Can this really be true?

I shall be reporting back early next week.

So nearly a brush with royalty

If Gail and her friends Yvonne and Neil had bothered to get going earlier on Sunday morning we would have arrived at Balmoral Castle in time to see the Queen attend the local church service.

Instead we were met at the car park at noon by a conspicuous security presence, although I must say that the young policeman we spoke to was all smiles and friendliness, enjoying the warm sunshine and seemingly not at all worried that our party constituted a terrorist threat.

Gosh it's a lovely place, the Balmoral estate. 

After romping around the forest and enjoying the fine views of Upper Deeside we approached the castle and were surprised to find the grounds still open to the public despite the Queen being in residence*.

In the café I met this lovely young lady called Steph, who has taken a summer job on the estate.  Can you see the smart Balmoral insignia on her apron? 

After giving me a biscuit and a nice pat, she told us how a couple of days ago she actually met with the Queen. I hope I am not going to get Steph sent to the Tower of London when I tell you she described her employer as "funny and really quite sassy".

Which made me feel even more sorry that I did not run into Her Majesty, as it's clear we have much in common (notwithstanding her well-documented preference for corgis). And no doubt Queen Liz too will now be regretting she missed the chance to have her picture taken alongside me and posted on this blog!

*Gail says: apparently the Queen is staying in a smaller house in the grounds of the estate, away from the visiting public. 

Dining out etiquette

I have noticed that when humans are served food in a restaurant, they are allowed to eat it right away. 

For example, here are Gail's recent visitors Jim and Lori tucking into some sticky toffee pudding (a delicacy which I understand is not commonly available in their home territory of the Pacific Northwest). 

But when the waitress brings me a bowl of special home-baked dog treats, I am made to wait patiently until all the humans have finished eating their food and are ready to leave.

Apparently this is all in the cause of teaching me good manners so I don't expect to be given food from the table.

Have you ever heard anything more ridiculous?

Anyone would think I had been negligent in my "pose nicely Bertie" duties during our day out together in Stonehaven.





Which of course was not the case.

Normal service resumed?

Gail has just returned from her trip cycling around Scotland with her friends from Washington State, and it seems she has very little of interest to report. 

It's a well known fact that all the best holiday stories involve some sort of catastrophe and frankly I don't want to hear about how the weather was unbelievably warm and sunny and everywhere they stayed was lovely and the people friendly and no-one even had puncture until the final morning just before boarding the train in Inverness...  and I don't expect you want to hear about it either.


I was a little disappointed that there were no reports of encounters with the local wildlife...


....But I am most relieved that Gail rejected outright the offer of a kiss on the lips from Maya, the wee terrier lass who was watching the Scottish Cup Final in a bar in Kingussie on Saturday afternoon.


Surely, Gail's refusal was all about wishing to remain faithful to me, and had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that she had earlier seen wee Maya licking her own nether regions with vigour?

I am now hoping that Gail has exhausted her urge to travel across the country on two wheels for the time being, and will soon revert to her proper job of taking me for nice walks and feeding me treats.