Look at me, and tell me I'm not handsome...

Today, Dimairt & I went up the hill to the peat bank, to turn the peat.
I always knew what peat was, but hadn't a clue where it came from until I moved here. I asked for, and was given a peat bank by the local grazings clerk. He told me, "Aye - everyone who comes to live here cuts the peat once" I think that even he is surprised that 15 years later, I am still doing it. Once cut, the peat has to be turned to dry out, before being bagged and taken home. It will do for a whole winter's warmth. And the smell... I have taught abroad, and was once asked, before going to Switzerland, if I would bring a piece of peat with me for the students to see. To my surprise, one of them brought out a lighter and held it underneath the peat. The smell permeated the classroom; much banter ensued, mostly in German, which I did not understand. The students then told me that it was a better smell than marijuana!
This picture shows Dimairt (pron. Gee-marsh-t) waiting patiently for me to throw a stick. The stick in question is just a piece of heather - there being no trees here - and you can see the cut peat on the heather around him.
Back to work tomorrow; and, after school, the poor dog has to come with me to the vet's (60 miles away) to decide whether or not to have the 2nd. hip operation done for hip dysplasia. I hope that it will not be necessary, having switched him to a raw meat diet ( and he has thrived on this). I hope that the vet will agree that he is very fit; in fact, he climbed Liathadh ( a Munro) on Thursday with my friend, and still wanted to have a runaround with a stick when he got home. Not bad for a 9 year old collie/springer; I wish I had half his energy.