Wednesday

The Dog Rambler E-diary

To 12
September 2012
Walk Tree and Field near East Saltoun, East Lothian Dogs on walk Cyrano, Darcy, Dylan, Finn, Jolie, Otis, Phoebe, Teela Length 6 miles

The open tree, spacious woodland of Saltoun Woods, dappled with sunlight and dark interior shadows was our destination today. A diversity of trees, mingling, touching branches, thriving side by side. Conifer, deciduous, native and imported, all eking out their existence in the heart of East Lothian. Surrounded by fertile fields. Many a golden glow in the sun. Their hearty, heavy heady crops already cut to no more than stubs in the ground. Like golden threaded needlework on a regal quilt. The woods shifting shades of green a more earthy counterpoint to this golden armour studded with cylindrical bales of straw. Softer and more gentle as the breeze brushed branches against one another in a gentle caress, serenaded by the high, floating song of birds. Broken now by the flail and dash and spin of the dogs. Let loose were Darcy, Finn, Jolie and Phoebe. Twisting and turning about one another. The odd bark or squeal of excitement cutting though the woodland. Being swallowed by the concentration of the trees, their thick trunks and heady canopies consuming the noise. Cyrano running with them but wheeling around them like a hawk unable to fix on its prey. Their jig taking them forward like a swarm of bees seeking the next flower. Otis having found his flower, or at least many enticing smells in the deep forest of grass

beside the track. Teela still with me but ready to get off her lead, settled already. Dylan not sure whether to play or investigate the edge of the trees.

The decision was soon made for all of them. A tantalising and mesmerising perfume carried on the slow breeze brought them to a halt. Noses raised as though saluting some invisible prophet. All facing the trees, Cyrano and Jolie jumping a little to get a better smell and a view over the grass. Dylan stalking off and then stopping to sniff the air again. Nothing was visible but the dogs attention was rapt. But with nothing more than this fading, wafting scent to go on they gave up and padded off along the track. Next for the ears to be assailed. First their noses, now their ears. But by something different this time. Dogs barking, discordant and jarring. High and low pitches playing again one another. Not harmony in the sound or in its sentiment. The drifting noise coming from kennels across a field at the edge of the woods. Walking on a track along the side of the field the dogs slowed down and looked warily in the direction of the commotion. Disconcerted by the dissonant noise, like baying highland foot soldiers beginning the charge across the battlefield. This cloth of gold, this golden studded armour. But of course they did not come and though the noise followed us it somewhat faded and the dogs returned to focus on each other. Even Teela, happy to be surrounded by Finn, Jolie and Phoebe. We cut our angular way around the fields on old tracks back toward the crown like spikes of the trees. Overhead yet more of a commotion. Scotlands geese migration has begun. A phalanx of loosely spread back shapes, making a slightly pitted arrowhead, on their way to their Scottish winter home. A noisy raucous party overhead as they shout through the wind to one another. A contrast to the more quiet dogs once more reeling around one another as we enter the dimness of the trees but no longer barking. We make our way along the maze like paths back toward the far side of the wood where the car waits on the little deserted car park, under the shade of some sentinel like trees.

Nick

Photo slideshow from the walk

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