Thursday, October 3, 2019

Return to Callander

My work schedule allowed me to leave Norway early enough to squeeze in TWO Wednesdays in Callander. The last one was well spent with feeding the cattle, eating at the the hotel restaurant and foot-stomping with the guys of Pure Malt.

I love the silly bovines at the Trossach Mill, they never fail to amuse me. I arrive in the afternoon, go in and buy three small bags of sliced up potatoes and carrots, then walk over to the fence. Mama Honey is in the corner, chewing pensively and can't be stirred. After some coaching, sweet little Holly gets up and comes over to see what's on the menu. And here's the thing: She's become so spoiled that she doesn't even WANT the potatoes. I reach out and hold the potato up to her mouth. She either turns away or opens up halfway, only to drop it once I let go. The carrots, however, go down as always. I have proof here:

So, I find myself feeding Holly ONLY carrots. Then big ole Hamish, the black bull, starts wandering over. So I turn my back on the spoiled brat and commence to stuff potatos into Hamish' face, because that's one bull who's never turned down a meal. A couple of Americans come over and then a van full of what appears to be Chinese tourists (I can't tell the difference betweeen a Chinese and a Japanese; sue me). And then, in a development that almost had me in stitches, big ole Hamish turns his giant head just as a Chinese guy is trying to pose with him, landing a hard blow with his horns on the idiot's head. Sadly, I didn't get it on film. What I did get on film was Honey physically SHOVING Hamish away with her thick skull. Once she gets going, she's quite the little tyrant and it doesn't matter that she's about half his size. Witness:

Good old Hamish.

How can I refuse him?

In the evening, I first had a delicious meal of venison burger at the restaurant of the Old Rectory Inn.


Then, I went in for one last session of foot-stomping. I like the sound of these guys, I really do. Here, they're playing Rabbie Burns' old masterpiece "Ye Jacobites by name".

And here, the beautiful & melancholy "The Green Fields of France".

Me at the airport in Edinburgh. Me leave Scotland. Me sad. This place is really a tonic for the soul.

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