It’s going to take a year or so before Dougal is old enough to tackle big days on the hill or rugged coastline, but he’s packing in a lot of sleep in preparation. We would have taken a dog from animal rescue or the SSPCA, but he was a present from my sister and her husband who had bred their dog, Sol. I’ve taken Sol for many a big yomp on the South Downs and he came for a holiday with us on Islay and Jura in 2009. He’s always been hugely entertaining company, so young Dougal has got a lot to live up to.
I promise not to tread on the paws of Maisie and Ken at Where the Fat Dog Walks and I’ll try to avoid too much anthropomorphising in any accounts of future walks where The Doogster is along. Promise.
He’s a lovely wee feller though, even when he’s gnawing my fingers down to the bone. Teething – they’ve got to do it. Below is a picture of Sol (born on summer solstice, not named for a former Arsenal centre half) pondering on the impressive geological phenomena resulting from glacio-isostatic uplift on the NW coast of Islay.
By the way, if anyone knows of any efficacious means of protecting dogs from the west coast’s tick epidemic, I’d be grateful for your advice.