Making The Most Of It

It won't be long now before I am unable to get through to the headland due to cattle in the fields: cattle hate dogs, and I have three of them.  My dogs are not the Lassie type, who are forever committing heroic feats in order to rescue Mother from all oncoming dangers, they work more on the principle of "We love you Mummy, we really do, but if someones going do die, then it might as well be you!"  When they see those bolshy cattle, come hurtling across the fields in our direction, they hide quickly behind me, or leg it as fast as they can.  They don't notice the fence in between them and us, they just run and ask questions later.  To be honest I don't know how they manage to run, as my legs normally turn to jelly, and I freeze and hope that the fence holds tight.  I still have nightmares about the large black beast with glowing eyes and animosity flowing through every vein in his body, the body that was hurtling towards me and the fence at breakneck speed.  When he skidded through the mud, and stopped a quarter of an inch from the fence, I finally understood what they meant in the novels when they talked of people fainting from fright.  It was some moments before I could even breath, never mind move!  I did mention to the farmer that I thought all cattle should be banned from the fields that 'I' want to walk through, but I assume from his howls of laughter that he thought I was kidding.  Does the man not realise that 'I' am the MOST important person in the world?! :-)

So for now I am making the most of the peace and tranquility of these desolate headlands; the domain of the Chough, the Peregrine and the Hare.  A place that is left to nature, and the sheep, for 95 percent of the time.   It is an area of steep cliffs that tumble down to jagged rocks and small sandy coves, coves that only the birds and the seals visit.  The paths along the cliff edges are treacherous: narrow foot wide gullies that cut deep into the pebble-dashed clay; paths that trip you unless you pay attention to where you are going.  You need two hands to climb up and down the steep slopes, and it is no place for the faint hearted.   Deep gullies cut through from the fields, where streams have run for hundreds and hundreds of years, gullies that are a-swill with mud and reeds. You need to be good at jumping to avoid sinking into the quagmire.

Sometimes the dogs and I just sit and stare: with views on a clear day across to Ireland and Holyhead, it is a great place to just pass the time.  And sometimes we scramble up and down, all of us breathing loudly, and feeling truly alive.