Things of Human Interest

hiya

Hiya! It is I, Bruce. Today I am here to tell you about an important difference between Dogs and Humans.

This is where I live.

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It is a good place and there are many things I like about it. My human companions also like this place. But although dogs and humans both can both like a place, it is not often for the same reason. This is one of the many curious but important differences between us.

For example, one of my favourite walks goes past these trees.

oakandstones

I like these trees because they mark the entrance into Good Field, a location where maximum fun is to be had. But Kate likes these trees because they are dead and alive at the same time.

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Past these trees is Good Field – one of my all-time favourite spots. Whatever the weather, the grass of Good Field is always wet and the ground of Good Field is always squishy and soggy. In Good Field can often be found deer and hare who are fun to chase, and if the cows pass by, they kindly leave an interesting mess behind. In Winter the mud of Good Field grows deep and dank and in the Summer Good Field’s plants grow thick and high. Good Field is a place for bounding, for leaping, for getting wet and dirty, and for gingering oneself up with all kinds of funky smells. In all seasons of the year, then, it is an excellent place to be.

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Now, Kate does not like Good Field for its mud or for its interesting aroma. Nor does she seem particularly happy when she trips into the cow mess, or wades clumsily through the waist high grasses. In fact, the qualities I most admire about Good Field are things Kate merely tolerates, or on occasion actually seems irritated by. I have heard her mutter words such as “ballache” as she stumbles, is bitten by a horsefly, or, as today, gets muddy trousers after falling on her arse. So why on earth does Kate take me to Good Field if she herself does not enjoy the many delights it has to offer? The answer is, of course, that it contains Things of Human Interest.

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Good Field’s Things of Human Interest are these Old Stones.

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Now, I am hardly ever diverted by Things of Human Interest, and I have to say that these Old Stones strike me as rather commonplace. Certainly they carry no significance for a dog like me.

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And yet I am tolerant enough of human foibles to dutifully sit and pose.

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Dear dog comrades, the moral of this tale is to joyfully accompany your companions when they wish to visit Things of Human Interest. That way you are likely to spend time in really excellent places, like Good Field.

g(love)

hiya

Hiya! It is I, Bruce. A while ago, we lived in a tall stone building in a city where there were lots of cars. Now we live here:

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Where there are lots of these:

trees

And a few of these:

cows

One of the many good things about it round here is that there are many Paths and I get to walk on these Paths with Kate and Tom. Sometimes I get to go swimming, and sometimes I leap about in the long grass, smelling interesting animal smells. But wherever we go, there is generally some water and mud for me to get myself nicely lathered up in. Hurrah!

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This particular Path is known as West Highland Way and is frequented not only by dogs and cows and deer but by many human walkers. Human walkers can be forgetful, and occasionally they discard their belongings along Path. That is OK though, because I sniff out and find these belongings, and then I make them MINE. Without a doubt, the best of these found belongings is GLOVE.

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Now, I first found GLOVE about three weeks ago by Path. Since then I have played with it many times and it is now sodden and chewed and has a delicious bovine odour. GLOVE seems quite robust though: Kate tells me that it is fashioned from acrylic, and is therefore a sort of plastic which refuses to decay. But though GLOVE is indestructible, and now has a very strong smell about it, sometimes I play with it so hard that I actually manage to lose it in the grass. Tom or Kate will insist that GLOVE is finally lost forever, but then, O joy of joys, a few days later I will always find it again, usually in a completely different location. I suspect the cows to have a hand (or hoof) in its unaccountable movements.

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Now, there are many fun things to do with GLOVE but probably the most fun to be had is when the humans throw it for you. Kate describes GLOVE as “a vile object” and is sometimes unwilling to join in the game. But, dear friends, let me tell you a good trick I have discovered: If you present Kate with GLOVE often enough, and stare at her for long enough with your most persuasive expression, she will eventually join in.

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Once Kate has capitulated, and throws GLOVE for you, you can retrieve and prance with GLOVE until you are exhausted.

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F U N!

But, eventually, it is time to leave and – sadly – to leave GLOVE beind, as for some unknown reason, Kate will not allow me to bring GLOVE home.

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This is Gate which leads home off West Highland Way.

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Right by Gate there is Old Wall.

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Kate instructs me to LEAVEIT behind Old Wall. This makes me sad.

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But if I don’t LEAVEIT behind Old Wall we don’t go home.

Well, goodbye, fun GLOVE buddy.

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Probably the only good thing about leaving GLOVE behind Old Wall is that, unlike losing it in the grass, it is always there next time, and I am always surprised and happy to discover it once again!

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See you soon, love Bruce xx

snowballs and other mysteries

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Hiya! It is I, Bruce. Today there is SNOW. I like SNOW because when it arrives we get up early and go for fun walks in my favourite places.

One of the many mysteries of taking a walk in the SNOW with humans is how very different their priorities are from mine. Kate, for example is endlessly preoccupied with taking pictures of the SNOW. . .

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. . . as well as photographing other humans lost property . . .

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. . . and muttering in vague rhapsodic fashion about how Edinburgh looks beautiful in the SNOW.

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I on the other hand know that SNOW is best for frolicking . . .

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. . . and that if you are good in the SNOW, BISKITZ magically appear.

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However, one thing that is very odd about SNOW is the thing that is called SNOWBALL.

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While other BALLS may be chased after, retrieved, and chewed, SNOWBALLS are mysterious and elusive. They smell of next to nothing, and, when thrown and chased after, they are somehow able to conceal themselves in an extremely vexing fashion!

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And worst of all, on the occasions that you manage to catch a SNOWBALL in your mouth, it just makes things cold, and then it disappears! Beware! These SNOWBALLS are not at all like other balls, but are confusing and not to be trusted!

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Personally, I find a STICK to be a much more steady and reliable creature, even when it is covered in SNOW.

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And one of the best things about this particular SNOWY walk is that it visits a selection of my very favourite sticks. Do you remember that I once told you about the sticks that sing? Well, here are the singing sticks, singing in the SNOW.

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The obvious conclusion: sticks beat SNOWBALLS paws down.

Hang on . . . she’s off again. . . . I’d better catch up . . .

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See you soon, love Bruce xxx

humans and other creatures

Hiya! It is I, Bruce. I have just returned from a F-U-N time on the island of Islay. This time was particularly fun as I have spent the past few weeks having no fun at all (going back and forth to the place where they put you on a table and poke at you, and are forced to don the humiliating cone.)

Islay is fun because there is a big beach . . .

. . . new walks with interesting smells . . .

. . . and I get to live in the box with the humans, which I really enjoy.

Still, there are things about being in the box that can be very confusing. Such as why it is OK to be wet some times. . .

. . . and not others.

To my mind, the most annoying characteristic of the human-creature is its inconsistency. For example, why is it that these buddies are good to play with . . .

. . . while these are not?

In fact, it is in relation to other creatures that the human-creature is most unpredictable. For example, one evening on Islay we visited this place. . .

I was told that there were otters about, and that I had to be very good. We sat in the box while Kate and Tom stared out of the window, occasionally muttering. After what seemed like an aeon, there was some excitement and animation, and Kate started reaching for her camera. All that had happened was that this had appeared in the water.

. . . which was, of course, not an otter, but a seal.

Now, if they’d have let me out, and into the water, I could have told them right away that there were seals in that place, and not otters. But as well as being inconsistent, human creatures like to think they know best.

But we dogs know better.

See you soon, love Bruce x

of dogs . . . and sheep

It has been an interesting week. On the downside, there have been a couple of days of evil, all-consuming fatigue to contend with. This meant that I was unable to go across to Glasgow, and hence unable to meet up with some folk I’ve been looking forward to seeing for ages, to chat about lace. Though I detest not being able to plan ahead, or having my plans scuppered when I do, I am pretty much resigned to the fatigue now, and I get by OK as long as I a) don’t get frustrated with myself and b) don’t try to do anything too taxing when it strikes. While I was feeling tired and rotten, I listened to an interesting interview with philosopher, Havi Carel about illness, which really chimed with my own recent experiences. Most of what she said was common sense, but it was very eloquently put common sense. I have ordered her book.

Fatigue notwithstanding, there have also been many good things over the past few days: the most exciting – nay, amazing – being that I FOUND BOBBY. To explain, when I had my stroke, I collapsed on the cycle path, where I was luckily found by a man and his dog who were out for an early-morning run. I remember the dog very vividly: it was a lovely black spaniel; it was wearing a flashing disco collar; and its name (perhaps predictably for an heroic, Edinburgh dog) was BOBBY. I remember the man much less clearly, but I am so very glad he was there. This man turned out to be a GP and he knew exactly what had happened to me (I was conscious, but had no clue what was going on). It is thanks to him that, within 20 minutes of having my stroke, I was being seen by the skilled neurologists at the Western General. He may well have saved my life. For the past year, I have wanted to find this man, to thank him. As I walk up and down those paths a lot, I thought I might be likely to run into him, but the problem is that I did not know his name, nor have any idea what he looked like. The dog, however, I did remember: since the advent of Bruce, I see and speak to a lot of dogs in our locale, and I have been on constant look-out for a black spaniel named Bobby. AND THE OTHER DAY, I FINALLY FOUND HIM! I ran into Liz, one of the dog walkers, down by the weir. She always has a jolly pack of hounds with her to whom I like to say hello, and as I approached, I heard her refer to one of them as Bobby. Sure enough, Bobby turned out to be a black spaniel! And when I asked Liz about Bobby’s owner, I discovered that he is a GP; indeed, the very man that helped me! Liz has put me in touch with Andy (for that is his name) and soon I shall finally be able to thank him in person.

I found it very moving meeting BOBBY, for, as you might imagine, he has taken on a near mythic status for me. While I was lying in hospital with my stroke-addled brain, I had many odd recurring dreams, in one of which I was walking with a black dog. It is fair to say, that in the months following my stroke, I developed an interest in, and affection for, dogs that I really did not have before. Hence, this fine fellow:

OK, that’s it for the dogs, then, but what about the sheep? Well, occasionally folk are kind enough to send me the odd woolly treat, and I wanted to say a quick thankyou. At the top of this post are Suzanne‘s sheep, who seemed very happy to play their part in this Christmas’s knitted nativity. I like them so much that I couldn’t bear to put them away after the festive season had passed, so they now live on top of my knitting cabinet. Really, how cute are they? (You can find their maker here — I love the photograph of all the different sheep sizes!) Thankyou, Suzanne!

A little further down the post you see some lengths of Hinnigan’s tweed, that Anne kindly sent me. My love affair with Hinningan’s tweed is long standing. Anne tells me that the shop has now sadly gone from the centre of Selkirk, but you can still buy their fabric through Locharron. Thankyou, Anne!

And last but not least is this beautiful Beiroa yarn from the wonderful Rosa Pomar. I really admire Rosa’s research into Portuguese textile traditions, and this yarn is the fruit of some of that work. The yarn is spun from the fleece of Bordaleira sheep, who live on the slopes of Portugal’s highest mountain range, the Serra da Estrela. These sheep are better known for their delicious cheese, but for many years, their wool has also been used to make woollen capes, which remind me very much of mauds, in the Scottish shepherding tradition. The wool of the Bordaleira sheep is as delicious as their cheese, and Rosa is now putting it to good use for hand-knitters. She soon hopes to produce more yarn from the coloured fleeces of this flock.

The Beiroa really is a lovely 1 ply yarn – just the kind I like – rustic and sheepy and real. I rewound the skein into a cake the other day, and since then have been swatching away. I thought it might knit up like Manx Loaghtan, or one of those similar ancient goat-y breeds, but it has much more spring and body to it. Indeed, it has great bounce and stitch definition (it is a yarn that seems to to demand cables) and I will be interested to see how it behaves when blocked. I sense a hat coming on. . .

. . . hold up a minute , the light is falling on the yarn-cake rather nicely, and now the sheep want to play too. . .

. . the thin sunlight is interesting, coming in through that window . . .

Now you’ve gone too far, Kate! Move away from the sheep!

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