The Rickety Old Farmhouse, like many houses in these parts, was built with windows on three of its four sides. Seven windows on the East side, six on the North, four on the South and a solid, windowless, wall to the West. The West is windowless because this is where the cold wind blows from. At some time in the last hundred years or so a flight of steps were added to the upper level and a door and a small westerly aspect window knocked through. This morning it's bright and fair but there's a mischievous wind blowing from the West.
Bob is told, as he is every day, that this is his country. He settles down next to me on the concrete storm drain and surveys his domain. With a chill breeze blowing Bob is a very warm and comforting presence alongside.
On our way home he squirms, not so much happily as ecstatically, in the grass at the side of the lane. Front and back legs stretched full out. He then rolls, head over heels, down the steep side of the drainage ditch into the crinkly, wind dried, leaves at the bottom. He does this eleven times then stands, shakes himself and looks at me as if to say '' Now where were we ? ".
The paralysed eye is bright but there's little sign of the 'blink' function returning. Bob will happily turn on his back when 'The Font' applies his eye drops. When he sees Angus appear with the bottle of eye drops he disappears.
Bob and Sophie enjoy slivers of overcooked omelette with their dinner. They seem to think it was a culinary masterpiece. Thankfully, normal service will be resumed tonight.
Here's a brief video about caravaning in the Hebrides in winter. A truly strange thing to do. At the 1:20 mark you'll see a very happy dog asleep on the floor of the ferry to the Isle of Lewis. It must have been a very calm day.