Snow Hares & Trailhounds

Our bloggists are scattered across the hemispheres: the Renaissance Couple have gone to South Africa; the present writer is in the deep north of Scotland, along with Ben The Trailhound, who has been co-opted into an impromptu holiday. There's nothing so melancholy as a resort out of season or a pub with no beer: yesterday on the route north I stopped atop Glen Shee, a ski resort with no snow, to allow the hound some mid-journey exercise. Liberated from car-bound stress he plunged across the hillsides while I stood amidst the desolation of chairlifts and empty coffee shops reflecting that global warming has disfigured this piece of the Highlands into an entirely post-industrial landscape: the Mounth must be the most extensive stretch of high ground in Britain yet snow was only to be seen in occasional streaks, and this in March.
Happily, Ben The Trailhound was untroubled by this and bounded along, successfully terrifying a brace of black grouse and a white snow hare. I'm pleased to say he failed to catch the latter, but the sight of them running beneath the stationary chairlift was exhilirating and the only sign of movement for miles. Ben is now appearing in a cameo role in The Deep North, where you may follow his continuing Highland adventures.