Fletches

Scully stayed over last night. Her family weren't at home when I tried to return her and I can't leave her outdoors there; she just comes running over to my place.

Doggy pyjama parties shortcut the morning routine - as in: I start earlier because her alarm clock goes off at the time her family start their day (before 6am) - and we were out walking well before 8am so I decided it would be a good day to tackle the deerhunters' track up the ridge of the hill on our sunrise side.

My friend of the dislocated hip had marked a route up there some years ago and told me where to find it. Remnants of his pink tape markers remained 

We got about 90% of the way up before I noticed that Scully was beginning to struggle with the steepness. She only has 3 good legs (one of the back having been damaged and pinned about 3 years ago), and none of them are long legs. 

Until I saw her pause and gather herself to do a small leap upward I'd never given much thought to how small nimble creatures tackle hills while lumbering two-legs crashes along behind. 

Now I could see it was a series of leaps and she often wandered off track, not just to explore smells but to find a zig-zag less steep way of making the ascent.

Puffing like a steam engine she was soldiering on and I felt really guilty mainly because I had forgotten to bring her some water. She jumps in every creek, burn, stream, ditch, puddle, pond, swale, and even the sea on our normal walks but up on the ridge there was no water. I turned her around as soon as I realized it was enough and she quickly recovered going downhill - so much so she had energy to chase after a large animal we disturbed (goat or deer - I heard but didn't see it and Scully charged into the bush yipping so it wasn't hanging about).

If you expand this a bit Havelock is at the foot of the big hill.

The helicopter rescue last week was from that house in the forest just right of centre photo. When we'd completed our walk I went to see how he was getting on and to tell him we'd attempted his ridge track. The first thing he had me doing was scrambling down a steep gully behind his archery range looking for an arrow that had shot straight through his target (The target is a pig shape painted on a large sack packed full of bird netting from a vineyard. Apparently he has hit it so many times in the same place the odd arrow has started going right through.)

Needle in a haystack was my thought about finding an arrow in all that forest. I really did try but even with him directing me to where they normally end up I couldn't see it.  It's got green fletches which he assured me would stand out - really? in all the green stuff?

Shortly after I got home he sent a photo of said arrow sticking from a tree root. That meant he'd scrambled down there himself. Some people are incorrigible.

Rain had really set in by then so Scully and I sat indoors and discussed knitting patterns and colour selection until it was time for her to go home.