What do dogs remember ? Wilfs first summers were spent at a battlemented old house a hundred yards and a granite ridge from the Atlantic. As a puppy he'd follow us down the brae to the old bothy at the oceans edge. Rabbits to chase. The occasional otter or doe for company. On a good day a view south to Ireland. More usually, driving rain direct from Nova Scotia. Facing us - Corryvreckan - the ship swallowing whirlpool. Millions and millions of tons of water tumbling down to form a cauldron of seething water two miles wide. The sound audible for miles inland. Green, luminescent water spouts whipping across the surface. The spirits of Scots-Irish legend.
Even then they were different characters. Digby cuddling into 'the font' or making a nest out of a tartan rug. Wilf standing, head on into the sledge hammer gale, ears streaming aerodynamically behind. The roar of the ocean, the warmth of a dog, three am laughter. When he's asleep, nose twitching, it's just possible to imagine that he's dreaming of those long ago rabbits and summer storms.