Whickering

Every night at present, when we can be, we are glued to the TV and to Springwatch. It is amazing what attracts the young westie's attention. Last night two baby badgers romping around outside their sett "whickering" as they chased about - that is, making squeaky chirrupping noises. I sit on the back of the sofa and when these beasties appear, my head's up, cocked, and my ears pricked up, but special ones like the badgers have me off the seat and skittering around in front of the TV table, or reared up on my hind legs, to get my face nearer to the screen.

Tonight it was the Barnacle geese flocking in to Islay in October, doing that honking thing that flocks of flying geese do.

Meanwhile, my heat progresses. Dad says I look like one of the saggy-bottom boys. Mum's just pleased I'm not dripping any more blood. I flirt outrageously with Haggis, and even sometimes look amazed to find my tail curled round to my side, but Haggis only has eyes for Meggie, the faithful old boy. All too confusing - grown-up stuff

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