shit in the woods

As a nice fathers' day treat I got to drag Nicky and Edgar out to Currie in order to walk back along the river, along that part of which Edgar had not yet been. He went to sleep shortly after we got off the bus but fortunately awoke just after we'd been through the tunnel, allowing me to pop back to show him it (and the couple of horses whose hooves were probably what woke him up) before continuing downstream. After a relatively successful lunch sitting on a log and a thorough inspection of the grassy bit he got to stretch his chubbly wee legs and gnaw some spare bits of tree, though not without the occasional swoop to catch him before he barged into one of the many dogshites scattered randomly around by the inconsiderate fuckwit-dog-owning fuckwits bimbling across the path simpering their special ahh-he's-a-big-softy-really idiot-smiles whenever we passed one. Edgar has not yet learnt that all dogs are potential face-biting-off monsters (not aided by frequent sightings when he's in the park at home) and tends to point at them, which probably makes some of the owners think their leashless charges' snufflings are invited, whereas (after an incident in North Berwick several years ago when my leg was licked by passing dogs twice in one day) any dog even attempting to lick my leg will get a Merrell in the snout.