My dearest   F&Fs, I have been singularly uninspired to write a blog about our recent trip to Scotland because,  most of the time, all it did was rain.                            

Mokey

 offered to write it, but to be honest, his English isn’t good enough yet. (For those who don’t know, he is the little Romanian dog that we adopted in May.)

Looking at the trip through his eyes, however, made me realise what a huge adventure it was for him. Not only did he get over the  travel sickness that’s plagued him since we got him,

he visited a new country,  

 bonded even more with  us and Digit,   

and learned that travelling and long walks don’t mean he’s being taken somewhere to be abandoned. Once he learned the routine, his enthusiasm and excitement every time we switched off the engine when parking in a new place, was a delight to behold. He would leap, first onto my knee then onto Shaun’s, to look out of the window, tongue lolling in expectation and his whole being shouting “Where are we now? Where are we now?” (voice-over supplied by moi).

Whilst we are accustomed to seeing Highland Cattle;

seals;        

porpoises; 

and sheep with four horns (What? You’ve never seen a sheep with four horns?)   

to Mokey it’s all new.

So, while Shaun    

was taking amazing, artistic photos of our surroundings,

almost every photo I took was to catalogue Mokey’s first motorhome holiday.

And despite the rain, we managed to stay dry on all our walks    

     and regain the sanctuary of the MH before heavens, that had stayed closed for a couple of hours, opened with a vengeance.

“The weather looks great in those photos!” I hear you protest.

Hard to believe that on each of those occasions, it was chucking it down an hour later.

The proof was in the rivers, streams and waterfalls that cascaded down the hills like frothy ribbons – without the rain, we would never have had such spectacular views

Well, apart from this one at a place called Foyer where we were lured with the promise of a thunderous, spectacular waterfall discovered in the early 1900s.   

I think our bath tap is more impressive.

As far as we know, Mokey visited the beach for the first time,

seeing as Bucharest is three and a half hour’s drive from the coast. He didn’t show much enthusiasm for it; I would have loved him to race around with pure abandon, but that is not his way! He is a very reserved little dog and Digit is too old now to show him the ropes. Digit struggles to complete a walk without being carried for half of it

  and tends to get left behind on occasions –   

mentally and physically.

The isles of Harris and Lewis – or I should say, the Isle of Harris and Lewis because, contrary to general belief, it is actually only one island, has beaches that rival the Caribbean

   for white sands and turquoise sea. There are none of the hotels, bars and crowds that frequent Bermuda, Bahama (come on, pretty mama) and unfortunately little of the warmth or sun either.

We did find warmth and sun on the north coast though, on the last night. We descended a tiny track to a fabulous beach

only to bump into an old friend who had JUST been telling his companions about his mate Shaun who has a great big FO motorhome that would NEVER be able to get to such remote, idyllic places as this. Ha! Shaun is an expert at negotiating tiny roads

 Unlike Cornwall, where the lanes are lined with stone walls and hedges so you don’t know what’s coming, here on the North Coast they are open and visibility is usually very good. And there are frequent passing places – seldom did we have to back up.

Of course, there are always one or two motorists who don’t know how to drive; instead of waiting BESIDE the passing place on our side of the road, they think they are being helpful by pulling into it. And then, there is the other helpful kind who, although we’ve have already pulled over, decide to do so too. But we get there.

That night we bbq’d on the beach and felt like we were on holiday.                  

One rare occasion that caused us to back up was when we saw this fellow –  

At first glance, we thought it was a stuffed stag standing next to a sign warning about stags in the area. Then, it moved. And it turned out to be so tame (though it was definitely wild, if you know what I mean!) 

Mokey had to content himself with viewing from behind the windscreen – he had already chased one small deer on a walk, disappearing across the glen into shrubs and undergrowth at a speed of which I hadn’t realised he was capable. We could hear him yapping miles away and I was terrified he wouldn’t find his way back. I called to him constantly with a calmness I wasn’t feeling, and he soon found us. It was a good lesson for us all. He is a very obedient little dog normally and will stay to heel when told to, resisting the urge to chase the free ranging Scottish sheep, but that deer took us all by surprise and they were both gone before I could stop him.

Despite his similarity to a spaniel, Mokey is, as I said, a very placid little chappie and abhors water. He will seek out the cleanest, driest path and often returns from a walk as clean as he left. Unlike some of us (Shaun)  .

So, forgive me if the focus of the holiday, and subsequently the blog (and possibly 90% of my conversation and interest generally) is dogs.

But for those who requested it, at least you got a blog.

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