Remembering Sisko

Sisko.  SISKO!  SISKO!!!!!!!  A commonly heard sound during Sisko's lifetime.  He came to us at somewhere around six months of age - we were told he was younger, but we were never sure about that.  We collected him from the local rescue centre on a November afternoon - well, we went to SEE him, but of course we came home with him.....

He started showing his style that very first afternoon when we got back to the hotel.  Guests had just vacated the sitting room where they had been enjoying tea, shortbread and clootie dumpling.  I went to the kitchen to get a tray to collect the cups and saucers and the goodies that hadn't been eaten.  When I got back to the sitting room, there were no goodies and I assumed a guest had come back to polish off what was left.  Then Sisko shot out from behind a sofa and out the door.

That was the first of many, many thefts.  We learnt not to let him near the guests as he would swipe their food from their plate or hands.  Or he would perform the "starvation" trick by sucking in his stomach and pleading with his brown eyes.  So many people fell for it.

He stole the carrots, the potatoes, the turnips (the aftermath of that was always smelly!), the bird food, the compost heap, the chicken shit garden fertiliser.  He even stole the ashes that had been scattered on our little island by a loving family.

He raided the bin so often that one day I pushed him in and told him if he was so fond of the bin's interior he could stay in there.  We rubbed chili oil around the bin to put him off - he licked it clean.  We put in horrible stuff on the top - he just rummaged down underneath it.  We were advised to put in small firecrackers, but he just thought they were fun.

His most memorable theft however was one night when we were staying at my parents' house.  I can't remember why we were so late, but we only got to the house at about 1.30am and my parents were asleep and so we tried our best to be quiet.  We left the dogs outside to go pee, and then called them in five minutes later.  Laren came in immediately, but there was no sign of Sisko.  Trying to call him in whispered tones is not easy, and I eventually had to go look for him.  I found him in the compost heap and extracted him with the sheer force of my annoyance. 

We had only just turned out the light when we heard the familiar "urgh urgh urgh urrrrrgghhh!" - the light went back on to find that Sisko had just thrown up the contents of the compost heap - right in front of the door, meaning I had to spread it around to get out of the bedroom.

Quietly (trying not to waken parents) I went back to the kitchen, got a bowl of hot water, disinfectant and a cloth, plus a bag to scoop the offering into.  I cleaned up the mess as best I could, then disposed of the dirty water, and the bag of yuck.

When I returned to bed we repeated the whole process several times until finally we put out the light properly at around 2.45am.

When we got up in the morning, my father grumped at me "you left the hall light on"  When I recounted the curious incident of the dog in the nighttime, he didn't believe me - and I couldn't believe they had slept through the whole thing.

Another memorable occasion was when he found some old cooking oil to "clean up".  A few hours later he came to me and placed his head in my lap, wagging his tail, and being generally rather sweet until, without warning, the cooking oil was deposited in my lap.  

One time when Sisko was staying with my parents, my dad made a sandwich, then went to answer the phone.  When he came back to get his sandwich, it wasn't there - he began to think he had imagined making it until he saw Sisko's expression.  Another sandwich that fell from the counter never made the floor.

He didn't just steal, however.  He also loved to pull all the drying laundry off the pulleys or off the line outside.  He loved to play the "You can't catch me" game.  The more frustrated we got, the more he enjoyed it, laughing at us as he ran.  He ripped apart the goatskin pouffe in our neighbour's house.  He loved to sleep in smelly fish boxes, or cardboard boxes.  He rolled in long-dead deer and sheep. He loved to bonk any girlie dog that visited.  He loved to bonk rucksacks, and even better to bonk rucksacks that were on someone's back.

He drove us nuts for most of his life, but he had some shining moments too.

When he first arrived, we still had Leroy who was then 16 years old.  One afternoon in the following spring, Sisko was barking in a way we hadn't heard before - when we looked out, we found that Leroy had fallen in the ditch and couldn't get out.  Sisko was standing by him, shouting for help, and was so pleased when we got there.  And apart from one occasion when he knocked Leroy over, he was always very mindful of where the old boy was and to be careful.

When Laren arrived at the age of six weeks, his first move was to try to bonk her, but a stern "no" stopped him - and he never tried it again.  He loved his little sister dearly and I have many pictures of them playing or curled up together.

One of their favourite games was with a huge cardboard box.  We would put one of them in it to fight their way out, and the other would fight their way in - there was never much left of a box at the end of it.

Or trying to get the ball from a wheelbarrow full of water.

If Laren was the household intellect .... Sisko was the court jester.  One time, Laren was helping us clean up after a decorating session.  We would fill a box with a handle with bits and pieces which she would then carry down the stairs and empty into a designated place, returning upstairs for more.  Sisko seemed to want to help, so we found a small tub for him and filled it with all the loose nuts and bolts etc.  He started off with enthusiasm, but got distracted half way down the stairs, emptying the tub of its contents!

He loved Laren so much, and I will never, ever forget his distress when we had to leave her at the vet that last time.

With the puppies that followed over the years, he was always like a grumpy but kindly grandfather.  He would grumble but never once lost his patience with them.

Rest in Peace old fella - I think it is only now that I am appreciating you for the dog you were.  I wish I could turn the clock back and do it all differently, or have had you from a puppy, but then you wouldn't have taught me all that you did.  Love you old man.

s

I Love My Dogs - And You Better Believe It!

A conversation with a friend got me thinking about how much my dogs mean to me.  The comment "He's fast asleep, love that little bugger" was so nice to hear as it made me feel a bit more normal.  I know many of my friends love their dogs dearly - but how often do we publicly say how much?  Or do we feel a bit embarrassed to say so unless it is to someone we know will understand?  After all, they are just dogs....

As I child I never had any interest in dolls - but I remember always wanting to have a dog in the house.  As a six year old I stayed awake late into the night waiting for our rescue afghan hound to arrive - I couldn't wait until morning.  And when he died some years later, it wasn't long before I was nattering for another dog.  Along came Tanya, another rescue afghan who saw me through my teenage years.  My brother didn't have any interest in dogs, and to this day, has never had one in his own household - I think he barely tolerates my brood!

In fact, I worked out that in just over 50 years, I have only had a total of perhaps 3 of them without a dog.  And now I cannot imagine life without them - it would be empty, and somehow pointless.

I never wanted to have children - and often wondered if there was something wrong with me.  In my early twenties, I worked in a bank, and whenever a young woman came in with a baby, all the other girls would flock to the counter to ask to hold the baby.  Various maternal noises would be made and I would remain at my desk wondering what the fuss was about.  When anyone came into the bank with a puppy, however, I was out the door to the front office to make a fuss of the pup.

Like human babies bring out the maternal instincts in (most) women, it is puppies that bring it out in me.  I just want to sit down and play with them, and be treated to puppy kisses.  I daresay that many women my age just thought I was odd.

Leroy was my first dog of my own - and he was my companion for almost 17 years, seeing me through the break up of my first marriage and several subsequent relationships before I settled down again - he saw all my ups and downs, heard the laughter and the tears, and just quietly kept life in balance for me by giving me routine and responsibility.  He was an amazing dog, and my only wish is that I had been a little wiser in those days and been a better mum.  Losing him at an old age was hard, but he had a good and full life and it was time for him to go.

Leroy aged four

Sisko the labrador came along in Leroy's last year - an unruly rescue pup who was hell bent on mischief, theiving and driving me round the bend.  He and I actually always had what you might call a difficult relationship - I never really bonded with him like I have with all the others - but it is him I have to thank for teaching me so much and forcing me to learn - about dogs, and about myself.  I just lost him a couple of years ago at almost 14.  Through his lifetime he played the kindly "uncle" to four  puppies, and whilst he grumbled regularly he never lost his temper at any of them. 

Sisko always loved to sleep in boxes

My little collie Laren was the heartbreaker (and the absolute love of Sisko's life) - and it still makes me cry to think about her early death at just six years of age.  I have had to box up those last memories and bury them deep so that the waves of emotion and tears don't come crashing in like a winter storm.  I can think of her life easily enough, and remember how clever she was, how quickly she would learn another trick, and her very cheeky way of demanding attention by gently nudging visitors in the crotch!  Perhaps I should reserve a page for her one of these days.

Laren

Laren and Sisko often chose to cuddle up

Tussock came along just months before we lost Laren.  Then came Talulah, and finally River.  I sit here with River on the sofa beside me, Talulah on the other sofa, and Tussock under the table.  In half an hour they will all have changed places without me noticing the flow of bodies as they take turns to lay beside me.

My dogs are my family, as important and special to me as any human children are to their parents.  I tell them my hopes and dreams, my secrets and my worries. When I watch them sleeping, my heart fills with love and tenderness for them.  In the night, if I wake, I reach out to touch whoever is closest, and just enjoy their warmth and softness.  I don't care if non-dog people think I am odd.  I don't care if they think being kissed by a dog is dirty.  I don't give a flying f**k.

I LOVE MY DOGS!!!!!  And you had better believe it.

A Foreign Affair

I didn't go to Denmark with the intention of falling in love - it just happened.  And to be honest, I thought I was past the days of holiday romances - and I certainly thought I was too much of a cynic nowadays to believe in love at first sight.

I had looked forward to this meeting for some time with a mix of excitement and anxiety.  What if we didn't like each other?  I shouldn't have worried, though, because within minutes of setting eyes on one another, we were laughing, kissing and cuddling and rolling on the ground.

WAIT!!!  I can sense some raised eyebrows around here.  Those of you that know me are probably wondering what is going on.  "She has met someone, and hasn't told us!".  Well, I was hesitant to talk about it because I was unsure if my own feelings were reciprocated, but I have now been told that it is a mutual feeling.

So........... let me describe her...............Oh, sorry, I forgot to mention that bit.  I didn't meet a man.  I met a girl - and that was the other reason I hesitated to talk about it - I was unsure how you would all take it.

Anyway -  She is intelligent, loving, full of fun, engaging, attentive and a huge flirt.  She has deep brown eyes full of love and mischief, wonderfully silky black hair, golden brown legs, and a very pretty face.

Although she is Danish, language wasn't a problem - we seemed to find our own unspoken language with which to communicate and I very quickly became besotted with her - and apparently she was crazy about me too.

We spent hours walking and playing on the beach, racing up sand dunes, getting sand in our clothes and water in our (well, my) boots (she had bare feet), cuddling on the sofa, cuddling on the floor,  I was in seventh heaven.  I wasn't sure what my family were going to say about all of this, but at the time, I didn't care - they were at home, and I was in Denmark with my new love.

The time was over too soon and I had to come home - sadly leaving her behind.  I know she will be happy without me - she already has people who love her very much.  And I have family who love me very much too.  But a little bit of my heart has stayed behind in Denmark.

Her name is Tilde.

Running up and down the sand dunes

Enjoying the beach together

Who needs speech to communicate

Playtime

Beautiful girl

Sofa time

Lots of cuddles

About to have dinner 

Pretty Tilde

The Sands of Time

Whilst I was over east some weeks back, and having had one trip back in time meeting up with old climbing friends, I decided to take the dogs off to my old stomping ground.  For a number of years I lived in a tiny farm cottage just a few hundred yards from the sea.  It was idyllic and I have fond memories of that time.  For that reason, I didn't go near the house as I didn't want to corrupt the memories that are imprinted on my brain.  Instead, I drove to the next village and walked back along the shore to the mouth of the burn (stream) by which my cottage sat.

My Old House - the tiny one in the middle.

It was a gorgeous day with blue skies, fluffy white clouds, and some warmth to the air as well as in the sun.  The village gardens were full of the spring yellows and purples that my own garden used to have. 

Down at the beach, the sand was as clean and golden as I remember it, and the sea was crystal clear - with the smell of the North Sea which is so different to the Atlantic on the other side of the country - somehow it is fresher, saltier, and crisper. 

Sand and water - a paradise for dogs.

Even Tussock had a swim.
 

There is a new coastal walking path there now, but I stuck to the shore line to avoid any walkers, and also to allow the dogs to swim - and swim they did.  For about a mile, River and Talulah never came out of the water for more than a few seconds at a time.  Even Tussock went in for a swim.  I threw the ball a few times on setting off, but then lost it when I let go of the rope at the wrong moment and it ditched in the sea - and didn't float.  Ah well.

Queen of the ball - Tussock

Queen of the Seas - Talulah

As we got closer to my old home, the beach became more and more familiar - rocks we would sit on in the sunshine, our place of entry into the water for a swim - and we swam most days from March through to November!  There were the huge slabs of rock covered in fossilised tracks of creatures who lived hundreds of millions of years ago, and the rocks jutting out into the water which were safe to dive from.  On one memorable midnight swim, I dove in from these rocks to find the water full of phosphorescence - magical luminous yellow particles glowing as I disturbed the water in which they live.  As I swam creating disturbance and bubbles, I left a trail of bright yellow in the water behind me.  Magical.

Getting close - you can just see the salmon bothy in the distance.

My old beach.

My old beach - the diving rocks are on the left.

One sad sight was the old salmon bothy - in my time living here, the bothy was actually habitable, still with its wood panelling, stairs and attic.  One evening, my boyfriend and I had gone up into the old attic and found several hundred rounds of live ammunition which must have been stashed up there during the second world war.  We collected it up and took it to the police station in town - I will never forget the alarm of the lady officer on desk duty!!!  I am glad we removed it from site, as over the years the house has been emptied of everything burnable - I dread to think of what dreadful accident may have happened if some drunken fool had chucked these bullets on a camp fire.  Anyway, the bothy now has just two gable ends, a back wall, and a pile of rubble - with a sign saying "Dangerous - Keep Out".  The decay brought about by time and accelerated by vandalism.

A sad demise

Someone's pride and joy once upon a time.

I cried upon seeing this

Looking back to the bothy.

I can't believe in all the years I lived here, that this is the only picture I could find of the salmon bothy.

We walked as far as the burn mouth and I smiled as I remembered a funny moment.  From my house I could walk down our own side of the burn to what we called the "wee beach", or we could cross the burn and walk through the woods to the "big beach".  One evening, my neighbour and I walked to the wee beach, and in the guddle of getting changed to swim I didn't realise that Leroy had wandered off.  When I noticed his absence I started to call him - no response.  Eventually I realised I would have to go find him before he wandered too far.  I put my clothes back on and ran along the track towards the burn, calling all the way.  No response.  Finally I got to the burn, and saw him over the water, chatting up another dog who was with a group of people.  I stood there and called across the burn - he looked at me as if to say "You can't catch me!"  In frustration I eventually shouted "If you don't f****** come here I will f****** come and get you".  No response.  I stripped off to my underwear, waded into the water, swam across, trotted out up the bank, caught Leroy, pushed him into the water and swam back over pushing him all the way.  At the other side, I gathered up my clothes and trotted back into the bushes.  On the way back to the "wee beach" I mused on the fact that the people with the other dog were American, and grinned as I imagined their conversation on my departure: "Gee, they still have savages here"!!!

The burn mouth, and time to turn around.

Still smiling at this memory, I turned back the way I had come.  I was almost tempted to go for a swim, but had no towel or swimwear with me, and it was rather busy with people to be running around in my underwear.  We kept on walking other than stopping for our picnic where Talulah decided to dig a hole to rest in.  Only trouble was, by the time she was happy with the hole, it was time to move on.

When we reached the point where we lost the ball, the dogs rushed forward, obviously remembering it.  The tide was going out, and suddenly I spied the ball in the shallows.  I kept pointing it at it, saying "there it is" and one by one the dogs walked over it, past it, and even stood on it, but they didn't see it to bring it out.  Bit by bit my feet got wetter until finally Talulah spied it and picked it up triumphantly.

By now, the clouds were gathering a bit and there were a few spats of rain.  No matter - we had had a lovely walk.

Confession of a (bad) dog owner.

It has been a stressful few weeks in this particular hovie household, with Tussock being unwell, River having her first (and incredibly bloody) first season which has sent all hormones skewwhiff yet again and now last Sunday's events have certainly added to that stress.

 

It is actually quite hard to tell this tale, but hopefully in the telling, some of you will able to pat yourselves deservedly on the back since your dogs wouldn't do such a thing, or that you yourself wouldn't behave in such a manner, or perhaps some of you will recognise certain aspects within the situation and be able to avoid the farce I found myself in last Sunday.  It wasn't my finest hour. 

I went down to a friend's house where my young horse is currently staying, keeping another pony company, and allowing me access to the arena to do some more work with her.  The dogs always go with me - they help me pick up the poo in the field, chase the odd rabbit, play with a ball, take a dunk in the ditch and generally have a lot of fun.  They know to stay out of the arena whilst I am working with Mooi, and they never stray very far away, and come back to the shout.

This afternoon, however, when we had all jumped out of the car, my friend's husband was trying to get a motorbike started and asked if I could help them push it up to the road where they could take advantage of the slope.  I thought about putting the dogs in the car for a few minutes, but it was hot and didn't want them to be distressed, so they came with us - we would only be a couple of minutes. The bike was heavy and was slow to push, and the dogs ran on ahead.

First incident - a dog in a neighbouring garden - a squabble through the fence - I should have taken them back to the car at that point, but I didn't want to hold my friends up by faffing about with the dogs.  

 

We got up to the road, and gave the bike a push - no joy.  So we had to push it up the hill again.  I was so busy concentrating on pushing the bike and helping to keep it upright that I failed to notice the dogs wandering off in the direction of another neighbouring property. 

By the time we had got the bike to the top of the slope the second time, I realised there was a dog in the property they were visiting - I had forgotten there was a dog lived there and I had a sudden panic as all the girls were in season.  I hadn't worried too much about them as, historically, they have been content to hump one another and have never shown any attempts at roaming. I called them, and they did respond, but this dog was intent on being with the ladies and came with them despite his owner's calls.  I tried to catch him, but the owner called to say to just leave him and he would go back in his own time.

 

However, he was so intent on Talulah's bum, that I decided it would be better to catch him and take him back to his owner and she could hold him whilst I took my three away.  But he was none too keen on his collar being held and made moves to mouth me - deciding the safer option was to slip my jumper through his collar, I moved to do so - except he got away. 

 

I then thought I would just take all of them to the dog's own garden so is owner could take him - so we did.  Dog handed over, and I moved off.  At that point a chicken decided to put in an appearance.  Tussock decided to have a nosey - chicken wasn't happy about it - Tussock insisted - chicken ran - Tussock chased - chicken squawked  - Tussock caught - you get the drift.  By the time I got to the scene of the crime, the chicken breathed its last.  Despite my telling her off, Tussock decided to go look for another chicken, which she found - I ran after her - she dropped the now dead chicken - and went for yet another.

 

By this time I was pretty stressed, and I'm afraid that Tussock got a thumping when I finally caught her with the last chicken.  She vacated the killing fields in disgrace and at this point I realised the owner had let go of her dog and he was busy with Talulah behind me.

 

My language got worse and so did the volume.  And I probably made a non too pretty arse of myself.  I was angry at the dogs, angry at myself, angry at the world.  Once again, in helping someone else out, I put myself in a bad position and am now paying the emotional and financial cost. 

 

I have no idea why the dog's owner let him go again, or why she didn't catch him, or why she and my friend didn't make any attempt to prevent what was going on behind me.  I wish they had.

 

But the bottom line is - they are my dogs and I am responsible for them, and have to accept the consequences of anything they might do, or damage they might cause.  I let them down by putting them in that position - a bad decision on my part, and, as it would appear, not enough training for that kind of situation.  That said - all my dogs did come to me on my call to begin with - it was only once the chicken got in on the act that it all went pear shaped....

 

So, this week we have to go to the vet Monday and Tuesday to have injections for Talulah to prevent any pregnancy - if he had been a flat coat, then I would perhaps go ahead with pups, pedigrees permitting, but he wasn't.  And I have chickens to pay for somewhere down the line - at my insistence. 

 

Last Sunday I was ready to pack my bags and move to remote island to escape the real world.  I just wanted to hideaway and find some balance and calm again. 

 

The one bright moment in all of this?  River, or my little Shitbag, was perfectly behaved.  I think she saw a side of her mum she had never seen and decided it was better to stand still, observe and learn!

 

But shit happens.  And each time it does, a lesson presents itself - I have certainly learned from this one.

 

Confession over - I know some of you will be appalled at this story, and be quite sure your dogs won't do something like that.  Equally I know some of you will cringe with me, perhaps recalling a similar sort of situation where you wish some alien would come along and abduct you.

The Hills are Calling

This entry has little to do with dogs, so leave now if you are not interested!

 

We had a trip to the east coast recently which gave us all a change of scenery.  The main reason for going was to attend the spreading of the ashes of an old friend who died recently. She was a girl I spent many, many hours with in the mountains.  I don't know how many hills we climbed together, or how many trips we took, but she was one of those people who was just totally and utterly herself.  No pretence, no posturing, just herself.  On most outings we took together, I had my dog Leroy with me, and it didn't seem right to go without a dog on this occasion.  I chose to take Tussock as she is the steadiest of the three, and probably the one most like Leroy but in female form.  Knowing I was going to be seeing people I haven't seen for quite a number of years, I didn't want to be having to keep such a keen eye out for a reprobate! 

It turned out that nobody else knew I was going other than the friend I travelled with and it was lovely to see the surprise on their faces as recognition came, and for me, it was like closing the circle around 20 years of my life.  We picked up where we left off, and despite so much water under so many bridges, it was like we had seen one another last week.

We chose a place we knew Fiona would love - a corrie up in the mountains - a flat area by a stream which would be host to wild flowers in summer and with a view of the hills.  We each took a turn to scatter some ashes, and then one of our party read a poem which, to all extents and purposes, could have been written by Fiona herself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dust if you must.
But wouldn’t it be better,
To paint a picture, or write a letter,
Bake a cake, or plant a seed?
Ponder the difference between want and need.

Dust if you must.
But there is not much time
With rivers to swim and mountains to climb!
Music to hear, and books to read,
Friends to cherish and life to lead.

Dust if you must.
But the world’s out there
With the sun in your eyes,
the wind in your hair,
A flutter of snow, a shower of rain.
This day will not come round again.

Dust if you must.
But bear in mind,
Old age will come and it’s not kind.
And when you go, and go you must,
You, yourself, will make more dust.

- – - written by Mrs. Rose Milligan

The photographs below were all taken between 1988 and 1990

At the Smiddy at Dundonell

At the end of a two day walk up the Lairig Ghru and back down the Lairig an Laoigh

Blaeberry picking

More blaeberries - blue tongues and blue fingers!

Fiona and myself somewhere on Skye

Mr Snowman

An often seen pose

A favourite pastime - bumsliding - not always with a dog in hot pursuit!

Fiona wasn't THAT fond of Leroy, but even less when he was after her biscuits!

Fiona.  May you roam the hills for eternity.