I’m SO glad I don’t do dog walks on Saturdays!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5CSwi34ugZA
(The Gryffe at this point is normally just a smooth-flowing, meandering river.)
The field by my Tennis Club @ 7:30am. By 2pm the Club was flooded and the Christmas Party due in the evening was cancelled.
After two weeks of virtually continuous rain, the 
Renfrewshire village of Houston today saw saw some sunshine. Well, blue sky at least.
About chuffin’ time, too!
And it made for a lovely sunset.
The transition from rain to sun was quite spectacular, although not captured quite so well by my camera. Misty,on the left, didn’t appear much impressed, but Bramble was a tad more excited.
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I have no idea if this will work …… it’s my first attempt at a ‘blog-hop.’
This one is organised by Blogpaws and has the theme, ‘Wordless Wednesday.’
(So perhaps I shouldn’t have written that …)
Big Louis & his ‘buddy
Marley shakin’ it!
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It was an interesting walk with Honey this morning, through the deserted lanes and country roads of Kilbarchan, Renfrewshire.
As we approached a tall, unkempt hedge that separates a field of sheep from the road, a strange, scraping sound could be heard over the cacophony of argumentative crows and rooks. They had obviously taken advantage of a brief break in the rain to settle some old scores.
The alien noise became more intense as we walked. The strange sound then became peppered with almost continuous, angry bleats. The ovine equivalent of cursing and swearing, if you ask me.
A Blackface ram. Not THE Blackface ram, though.
On reaching the point where the bleating and scraping was loudest, I pulled back some branches on the hedge, to reveal a rather distressed Blackface ram with his left horn somehow hooked over and around the wire fencing. The more he pulled, the more he only succeeded in moving the wire further into the curl of his horn. And the more angry and distressed he became.
With no farmhouse evident in the near distance, there was no real option. I couldn’t just walk on by.
Now I’m no farmhand. I’m no sheep rustler either. But how hard could it be?
I’ll tell you: how easy is it to hook a new key onto one of those infernal looped key fobs? Well – worse than that. Way worse. 
This creature moves a lot quicker and is a lot stronger than a chuffin’ key. It was by now, severely pissed off. It didn’t understand I was there to help it and the poor thing was possibly sensing a jar of mint sauce being produced from my pocket.
Honey, to her credit, stood quietly by – watching. And very possibly laughing. In her paws, I think I would have been too.
I pulled the wire; I bent the wire; I tried turning the ram’s head. Nothing worked. The obstinate creature was intent on fighting against everything I tried. I was butted on my head; I had my shins kicked. I worked up a sweat as I tried in vain to lift his writhing, woolly body up and off the wire.
I swore. Out loud. Honey gave a wry smile.
And then ….. I know not how, the hapless ram was free. I immediately looked around for a hidden camera. This was one of those ‘moments,’ right?
Nope. No camera. But it was indeed one of those ‘moments,’ all the same.
The ram’s feet sought purchase on the now muddy grass – a bit like Scooby Doo before he takes flight.
And then he was gone. Not even a cursory glance backwards. Not so much as a wee bleat of thanks. Off he went to join the small flock that had kept a reasonable distance throughout the whole drama.
There was much ‘meh-ing.’ Lots of joyous, celebratory, wavering calls.
The ram approached each of the group, one by one. He pressed his forehead up each of theirs, working his way round them all.
Then it dawned – far from being a celebration, the noise they were making was laughter.
“Ha ha! You got him good,” they were likely praising him. “Did you see the colour of his face as he tried lifting you? Priceless. Nice one, Ram.”
I sheepishly gathered up my jacket and hooked Honey back on her lead.
She smiled sympathetically.
“Get them,” she said. “What are they like, eh? Who says sheep don’t have a sense of humour?”
… I heaved a sigh.
I had a pleasant surprise when Sadie, Violet and I walked to the end of this spectacular rainbow today. We, well I, perceived the point at which it touched the ground to be just along the road from where I’d parked the car some fifteen minutes later. Rather conveniently, that was just outside the little toy poodles’ home. And we were headed back there anyway.
The signs were good, then.
Sadie & Violet
Unfortunately, the anticipated pot of gold didn’t materialise, but I did find the cover for my car’s wing mirror – see post: ‘Friday The 13th’ It was lying in the short undergrowth beside the bumpy, pot-holed road. How it had ended up there, and completely unbroken, I’ll never understand.
Anyway, since I’ve been so busy with either tennis or circuit training each night this week, I’d not yet got around to spray-painting the replacement cover which I bought last Friday. Which meant of course that I could return it to the garage and get a full refund of the money I’d paid.
Yes – a pot of gold would have been most welcome. But to an impecunious, tight-arsed, little Scottish dog walker, not having to part with any more money, and indeed getting some back, elicited a similar euphoric reaction.
There’s always much excitement amongst the pack when a new member joins.
Brett with the lunch pack.
Yesterday, the ‘early lunch’ brigade welcomed Wren, a three year old, racing rescue greyhound bitch.
What an absolute star!
Thrust into a pack with three, feisty little breeds (two Jack Russells, a Border terrier and a spitz) she admirably kept her cool when the four let their enthusiasm spill over into a bickering squabble.
They soon settled though and the usual greetings ensued.
Harry, the golden labrador and seemingly self-appointed pack leader played it cool though. He’s a ‘ladies man,’ is Harry. He remained distinctly aloof from the short-lived bout of petty altercation.
But at the Point of Scheduled Return (p.74, ‘Damp Dogs & Rabbit Wee’) he made his play. Several times.
Poor Wren. It was never like this back on the track.
To her credit, she remained completely calm. I was kind of hoping she’d warn him off with a swift nip. But no – she just gave him the kind of withering look that any lovelorn human teenager will experience at least once in their life.
Harry eventually got the message and we walked back to the car with a four-dog buffer between the two.
You’ve got to hand it to Harry though. The pack has always been predominately male, with Molly, the older of the two Jack Russells, the only female.
But then, what self-respecting labrador would stoop so low?
…falling on my head like a memory.
A very recent memory, as it happens. These past couple of weeks have been horrendous for us dog walkers. No wonder the local River Gryffe burst its banks today.
To give some idea of the extent of rainfall in the last couple of days, the picture below was taken today at the point in the river where, in ‘Damp Dogs & Rabbit Wee,’ I refer to the local kids jumping into the calm waters during summer. Not today, though. 
Poor Gem – she hates the winter and the cold, wet weather it brings. She cuts a really miserable figure as she flits between the bushes and trees seeking shelter from the biting wind. I know how she feels.
What a load of b******s!
Or so I thought ……..
The day started well. I was up early, bought my regular Friday morning treat of bacon baguette and coffee from the petrol station and picked up Ozzy, Sam & Gem at 7:45am.
We drove up to Glennifer Braes as usual, and looking to the west, could see that the ‘terribly British’ Storm Abigail (see earlier post) was politely removing her shoes before entering the valley below and heading towards us.
(Clockwise from top) Ozzy, Sam & Gem
The gentle Gem (yes, she’s a Staffie) could sense its approach. She’s never enjoyed the cold or the rain, and even less so now that she’s getting on in years.
“Do we have to go out?” she pleaded. Well, sort of. She had that plaintive expression on her face – the one that makes you feel so guilty about going against her apparent wishes.
“Hey! What are we waiting for?!” said the ever-bouncy Beardie, Ozzy. “Let’s go!” Oblivious, he was; couldn’t give a jot.
“Have you got biscuits?” asked wee Sam, the ever-hungry Cairn terrier.
I did, of course. I also had my eagerly awaited bacon baguette. Mmmmmnnn!
Nnnoooooo!
It was cold! Mind, a bacon butty can never really be ruined. And the upside was that Sam couldn’t smell it, so I managed to eat it in peace as we walked.
We walked our usual route and made it back before Abigail arrived to rain on our parade. Feeling rather smug at having beaten her back to the car, I changed my boots and dropped the baguette wrapper in the litter bin. (Leading Petcare is a socially conscious and eco-friendly business.)
But on my way back to the car ……
Who the heck would go to the bother of removing and stealing the wing mirror cover from a Vauxhall Zafira?! And before 8:40 in the morning? In the middle of bleedin’ nowhere?! It may just be an oddly shaped piece of grey plastic composite, but replacing it later in the day cost £24, plus another £30 to have it spray painted the same colour as the car.
Damn that black cat! I immediately regretted dismissing its influence on Friday 13th.
__________
Beautiful creatures as they are, some dogs harbour questionable habits.
For the information of those reading this blog who don’t own dogs, rabbits or dung beetles, ‘coprophagia’ is not the name of a herb-infused Italian flat-bread.. It is the act of eating one’s own faeces. Or that of another.
It sounds pretty disgusting, and is. Well, I can imagine. For us humans, anyway. Not that I’ve tried it.
But it’s a common practice for some dogs. And much as the thought of it makes me want to ‘chuck,’ a dog’s habit can be nurtured for good use.
At this time of year, with so many different coloured leaves on the ground, it can often be hard to tell exactly where various members of the pack have, erm, done their business, so to speak. Even with a keen sense of smell, it can prove difficult to pinpoint the deposit that requires to be bagged and binned.
Send for Big Louis! He loves a good bit of steaming poo! (Sorry to be so graphic, but such is the life of a dog walker.)
Fortunately, he’s not as possessive over this as he is over a tennis ball (Big Louis -v- Marley is a story for another day) and once he’s identified the spot, I can usually intercept before he tucks in.
Thanks Big Louis. A clean park is a happy park and all that.
__________
Never let it be said that Big Louis is a ‘limelight’ case:
“Hold on! Li’l Louis! Marley! Wait! Colin! I’m comin’ ….”
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Storm ‘Abigail,,’ the first such weather system to be formally named by the UK Met. Office has been, and gone. 
What an anti-climax!
Here, in the Glasgow area at least, Abigail was like many of the dogs I walk: full of bluster but not much in the way of action.
Sure, she brought with her a doze of wind (again, much like many of the dogs in my lunchtime pack) but unlike her American / Canadian cousins who arrive fully tooled-up and raring to wreak meteorological havoc, she was distinctly ‘British,’ in her approach.
For a few days prior to her arrival, she politely knocked on the door of our Scottish coastline.
“Sorry to bother you,” she seemed to say. “I’m heading up towards the North Sea / Norwegian Sea areas and I really need to pass through. I don’t want to put you to any trouble. I’ll be as quiet as possible – I wouldn’t like to put you to any trouble. Thank you very much.”
And she didn’t.
“Excuse me, please. Coming through.”
Yes, we got wet. Soaked through, in fact.But it didn’t seem to bother Jazz, (Big) Louis and Marley. In fact, they loved having their gust guest over for the day.
‘Damp Dogs,’ and all that.
Leading Petcare 