Persisting to Ronda

Up in the dark , the plan was an early breaky and then catch the bus to the AP with what we thought was plenty of time. Missed the bus by 1 minute and then had to wait another 20 for the next one. Stress levels rising as today includes a few transfers which are totally reliant on transport being right on time. Bad start if we can't even get our own act together. Forgetting to previously check in meant we had to join the checkin queue, which looked about an hour long. Good teamwork had us being directed to the late checkin counter and voila - we were through. So a bit of luck and first stuff up for the day avoided and we found ourselves on the plane to Malaga, on which we spotted a row of spare seats and took them over. Ahhh the luxury of being able to stretch the legs (even if only for an hour or so). Aussie seat hogs. From the air southern Spain appears to be baking in the long hot summer. For no rains falling in the plains the dams seem remarkably full.
And so dropped out of the clear blue sky's drifting over the always calm waters of the Mediterranean sea to land on the tarmac of Malaga AP.

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One sole purpose for being here is as a transit point to Ronda. A place obscurely mentioned as worth visiting and therefore placed on itinerary as one of the key stops of this trip. Barcelona was a means to this end. Gaudi (along with all his wierd eccentricities) was basically a fill in along the way. This blogger had spent a lot of time and effort in pre-booking train tickets to meet this outcome. Even expressing to many peeps (aka those polite enough to listen) that if this comes off it'll be a fabulous example of our modern day abilities to do anything on line and watch the subsequent reality unfold. There was extreme nervousness about switching trains 3 minutes apart in a high speed vs. low speed intersecting station somewhere in the middle of nowhere on a plain in Spain. The consequences of this stuffing up were significant.
So whilst we sat there waiting for the first leg of the supposedly reliable spanish train network representative to appear at the station. Lo and behold...it didn't. Instead all the peeps waiting around platform 7 started queuing up, having their tickets scanned and disappearing out a side door. In a nutshell they were not boarding the train  which the sign on the platform quite succinctly stated should have been there, which quite obviously wasn't. All the planning, hours of stress examining timetables, booking on line, espousing the virtues of the modern world (driven by AI engines) was all unraveling before this bloggers eye's as the stream of people slowly disappeared out a side entrance whils the platform itself remained peacefully unaware that there should have been a train fulfilling it's purpose.
There was a fair amount of panic going on around this time, stressed questions asked in English with responses in Spanish of either pointing to people who understood the language and/or the situation with the questionnaires running to and from one side of the tracks head  to the other (draging suitcases whilst doing so) in a seemingly dance of disarray. Possibly looked funny to the overlords watching the show on the ctvs. None of the locals on the floor could care less. They' knew the train had been replaced by busses. They could understand the overhead announcements. Their care factor about this blogger/non-blogger predicament was rating zero. Storming out of the station and into the information centre the picture finally revealed itself along with fact that all ensuing trains were full. However, if one wanted to get Ronda we could try the bus stop which is just out the front door and to the left.
Happened to also be around the corner  but we found it, eventually discovering that the counter that serviced this route was serviced by a sign on the service window saying book on line. Welcome to Sunday arvo in Malaga bus depot. Somehow this all worked extremely well. All you need these days in lieu of local dialog is friendly persistence and a smartphone with sms connections back home to appese the banks.
Malaga is an ancient city with a bustling vibrant atmosphere, an age old Mediterranean harbour and even a Roman amputheater worthy of a good look. We spent the whole day waiting in the train station for a train that didn't show and then the bus depot for a bus that did.
It was great ( the bus not the town). Sat up the front and watched the Spanish hills roll by as we wound our way via a few local stops to arrive in Ronda 45 mins ahead of schedule and wondering why we didn't choose this option all those months ago from the other side of the planet. Now we need to worry about all the other bookings made on that digital  platform  however in the meantime we have the next 3 days to explore this place.

Device apps had shown the walk to the hotel was possible, so we did that, checked in and enjoyed a well earned beverage overlooking the adjacent bull fighting ring with the majestic hills defining the horizon in the distance as the harsh sun beat down at 38 degrees (in the shade).
Went for a stroll up the main touisty plaza and was disappointed that Sunday arvo here all they tend to sell is ice cream. At the top of the strip we found a kiosk with a boisterous owner happy to serve us a couple of suitable bevvies ( with free olives) whilst we collected our thoughts and planned ahead.

A Tapas dinner back down  in the tourists area was fabulous. Great food and wine served by a local lass that knows english very well but goes the extreme efforts not to let on. Good on her.
Ronda - here we are.

Building Spanish Style

We chose this hotel as it's close to the airport and given our late arrival and early departure times it seemed an astute thing to do. Maybe so, however astuteness comes at an ambiance cost it seems. Our garden view doubles as a gardeners view as they ( and the entire stret incl. the offices across the road can easily peer in if they chose to). It's so dark and poorly lit it's almost done on purpose knowing peeps will leave stuff behind simply because they can't see anything clearly. Reasonably modern though. It's stuck in the middle of a huge industrial estate with an airport theme. E.g Next door is the place they load the food trucks for the planes. Across the road is huge Amazon distribution hub. New roads with 10 year old trees abound. It was all eerily quiet on the Saturday morning as we headed out on foot amongst it all in search of the local metro station, with the sun streaming down it was great to experience a nice warm environment for the first time in many months. Thanks to our devices and one of two esims functional we got ripped off at an atm to get some cash on the way to the subterranean metro where we were lucky enough to be guided by an attendant in the otherwise deserted station to get a ticket for both us for the day relatively cheaply.

The train into town took about an hour with an incredibly confusing change of lines half way, up and down a deep pit by escalators and then lifts, eventually sorting it out we found the church station line and got there well enough in time to muck around with confusing apps, associated tickets, headsets pairing and signposted directions. The place still has thousands of pilgrims daily forking out their dosh in order to fund the never ending works of the crazy dudes reaching for the gods.

The effort is extraordinarily complex, the design committee's must have a mantra..let's make this as hard as it can possibly be to do. "I don't care !" Screams the Project Lead as the engineers try to point out that placing mosaic tiles on an un-symmetrical grouping of bulbous balls positioned precariously on top of a thin stone pillar 100 meters above the ground carries risks. "Just do it, because thats what the Design Committee reckons Gaudi would've wanted, and by jingos therefore it will happen....and the open checkbook that is all those pilgrims streaming past the alter and dropping their euros into the collection hat (digital version) will pay for whatever "risk mitigation" you morons reckon you need. OK ? You're all good? Excellent. I'm off to pray now. I expect you'll have it done by next lent"
Building Spanish style.
These dudes are crazy. Just to prove it we took (aka paid more for the pleasure) the tour up one of towers. This was the "Passion" tower. Which one suspects was named as a subtle dig at a certain Project Lead, it has small lift up in which a delightful young guide explains to the crammed in pilgrims how to avoid falling to your death on the long way back down. Not that it would matter if you did because this is in the resurrection facade, so you know..not really a problem.
Anyway, the views from way up there were spectacular. The vertigo inducing ups and downs were enhances by the new knees and wobbly legs. Thin stairwells threading their way between slippery stone walls circling up and up, and then over stone bridges and then spiraling forever downwards felt like what the dwarfs had done tunneling into the depths of Moria.
The main chuch inside is pretty much completed now and it is truly spectacular.

The treelike stone pillars holding up all those towers reach up into the heavens in a cacophony of light and colours and there, right in the middle of the whole thing, is a dude being viciously tortured. Well not actually, just a depiction. Still very poignant though.
Stumbling out into the bright sunshine on the western side, we exited the complex glad we'd seen it and wishing we hadn't left the hand sanitizer in the hotel. To make matters worse non-blogger had a banana explode in the security bag, so it was all a bit messy.
Managing to rehydrate and eventually get the germs of thousands of pilgrims off our hands we wandered into town central with all the memories of last time flooding back. The six story high wide canyons haven't changed one bit. It was all extremely quiet on a Saturday siesta time, until we reached the Gaudi house/museum where the tourist hordes were milling around like bees to a honey pot. Literally as thats what the place looks like. We purchased gold tickets and wandered right on in, dealt with a dodgy electronic guide (in the process going through a few before finding one that worked - with the faulty ones going back into the distribution pile!) and toured the mansion that the artist/architect had unlimited funds from a local rich dude to express his wares.

It's hard to describe, and many attempts have been made with some of them expressed in the museum display to the extent that really clever people used many words to pull apart and reconstruct from various perspectives - even using microscopic views to show how smart they are when providing poetic analytical
verbiage to get their point across. It's a piece of carved rock mate, move on...
The curved lines, mosaic covered walls and ceilings, floral ceramics everywhere being lit by ingenious lighting along with subtle air flow systems was a sight to behold.

Eventually we ended up on the roof, where a bar had been studiously placed and we caught our breaths whilst enjoying the amazing warm ambiance created by mosaic gathered chimney stacks and a dragon lying on top of the facade. Enough Guadi for a lifetime. Decending down a more modern staircase we gave up on the last hurrah light show and stumbled out into the streets with the aim of having a progressive dinner on the way home.
Two tapas joints on the sidewalks was very enjoyable, living on the edge (litterally) at one with bikes whooshing past at a rate of knots. Batteries and motors have made the city a little more dangerous, and was somewhat disappointed no one tried to cool us down with water pistols. We left well before the city comes alive on a Sat night and metroed and walked ( almost being collected by the only vehicle moving in the area) back to the hotel in the middle of nowhere for wind down and get ready for the next day. The get ready bit was poorly done as check-in was forgotten and we almost paid the subsequent price.

Near West bound

Logic has it that we must be in the Near West given we flew in over the Far East, via the Middle East to arrive in the heart of Catelonia, home of the water pistol tottin' locals who have apparently taken up arms against the hordes of tourists besieging their wonderful city. This is price we have to pay for splashing cash around the place. Looking forward to it when we hit the sidewalks tomorrow.

It was a 3 hop trip to get here. A lift to the airport from Offspring no.1 accompanied by the two coat pooch was greatly appreciated whilst non-blogger being stripped of scissors and a knife going through security wasn't. The 9 hour overnight jaunt to Bangkok went ok, curiously interrupted by a fellow passenger asking how long will the Blogger be watching the movie as she wanted to go to sleep. This is why they hand out eye masks was the smart reply (not delivered as these smart replies are always thought of after the event). 
The airport in Bangkok is huge. Sprawling. Cavernous. It even has it's own in house train set. Fully autonomous as well. At home we can't even get one to the airport let alone one inside.

Here they even have autonomous floor polishers inocculously roaming around looking remarkably like R2D2. Life copying art. The 5 hour layover passed by relatively eventless. Mostly just sitting around drinking coffee and being awestruck as to how many shopping strips seem to go for kms in all directions, all busy due to the plethora of peeps who were on all their way to wherever they had deemed necessary to be.
Leg no.2 was a 10 hour stint to Istanbul AP. More food and drinks at the wrong time of the day, bloated and worn out it only seemed appropriate to crash out just after lunch. Forced jet lag. And then wake into a dreamscape, everything is twisted around, it should be mid afternoon and yet it's dark outside, the nighttime footy is on live from home and they're serving breakfast like it's 5 am. Body clock spinning in reverse. More coffee. The live feed of finals fails as we slip through the safe corridor amongst the warring countries of the middle east with Shpongle providing the acoustic backdrop.
It took a while to realize the windows were deliberately blacked out to make it feel like night, the only logical reason for doing this is to appease some desk bound psycologist who has shares in a smart window manufacturing company. Admittedly the music was this bloggers choice. The windows magically cleared as we decended through the clouds to glimpse a vast suburban sprawl dotted with temples adorned with the 5 layer spires that ensure all participants are constantly reminded of the power structures under which they are controlled by.

Unfortunately we can't tick Turkiea off as a visited country as we didn't leave the airport. The 4 hours spent there was basically people watching and not eating as we figured the next leg would fatten us up again. This AP is (apparently) the busiest in Europe. No internal trains, no Star Wars robots scurrying around. Bit disappointing actually.

Enough hairy people to possibly be Wookies but that's about it. Looks like they stole the roof design from Southern Cross station back home. Aussie architecture leading the world of design and engineering (yeah right).
The next leg to Barcelona started off badly with another huge long walk to the gate only to see a milling crowd not boarding. Something wrong somewhere. At least we know our luggage has magically traveled all the way with us and is in the hold.
Eventually taking off the 4 hour hop was straight forward as we crossed the Italian boot in the dark with storms raging over the Alps down below our level to the north. Love a good lightning show. A long wait for the bags to appear and a hotel shuttle bus in the wee small hours and voila! 47 hours after leaving home, we're here. Easy.

Last full day of this leg

Due to fact that Dad had already done his best David Lynch on the early morning glittering leaves the previous day, and now the background (our previous frisbee field) was full of kennels carrying large noisy Bogunvillious and their matching hounds we all stayed in bed whilst the glittering reflections danced a merry jig on the ceiling inside the master bedroom.

Last chance to sleep in - catch 'em whilst you can. Eventually they emerged into the grand hallway as I stood pointedly at the front entrance indicating my desire to partake in the use of the outside facilities. Once there (and thus relieved) we sat on the deck under the pergola and watched action below through the still shimmering trees. The weird barrel on a trailer was still parked there, yet in the early morning soberness the alpha males below didn't seem that keen to go inside, sweat their pores out from the steam driven wood fired heater and then emerge, two steps taken to then totally immerse into the cold waters of the bubbling creek. Soft when sober so it seams. I would do it -  apparently though you need to take your fur coat off before going in. We talked it through (Dad and I) and figured the logistics would be too difficult - two coats can have it's disadvantages.

It's taken all week for the weather to prove it can actually make the place pleasant and as such we made the most of it. First up was a wander into town where I got to check out who'd been bold enough to pee over the top of my last deposits. Layers we call them. We can effectively see them with our heightened sense of smell, coming into clearer focus as we sniff longer and more thoroughly around the same place. Exploring the nuances of the physical nature of the depositor (e.g. gender, age, weight, breed, diet, overall heath, wealth, bogun ranking, what they were thinking at the time, were they in a hurry, impressions on this particular spot to pee on, voting traits, impressions of shows like Muster Dogs etc. etc. It's all there - we just need time to take in all the layers and thus..."OH FOR GODS SAKE TAI! - COME ON"...) a yank on the lead and the layers snap away until the next post where they reset and we go again. Always in hurry my parents.. Caffeine awaits.

Today's cafe stop under the table was pretty restricted due to the narrow pathway and the popularity of the place. If the lady who hates dogs (because she can't avoid stepping on their poops) was there today she wasn't noticed as there were a plethora of real dog liking people who fell for my ears folded back routine and thus fell in love with me and let me lick there offered hands - seriously Dad - they offer them - what do you expect me to do? Dad and I spent at least an hour sitting there whilst Mum did her phaffing thing in and out of the shop. Eventually she re-appeared and said we should go home as she wanted to do more phaffing across the road. Yay - I got to get off the cold pavement and check out all those peeing spots on the way back to the kennel (well you never know who's been past in the last hour and there's all these "layers" that I need to delve into ......"OH FOR GODS SAKE TAI! - COME ON"...)...Once home I hung around the front watching for Mum to come back - just to make sure she was carrying something that made the phaff worthwhile (she was).

We then mounted the patiently waiting beast at the front of the kennel and headed up the creek (I guess the engine was the paddle) to a place called Wandiligong. As a dog, this name means nothing to me, so I'm not even sure why I even bothered to get the spelling right, however we did have a fabulous time at a place there called 5 Acres Bar and Kitchen. I think it was the "Bar and Kitchen" bit that enticed the folks there. It was possibly the highlight of the week - with weather finally getting tired of flipping it's middle finger at us, we had a great time relaxing in their extensive gardens as Mum and Dad were really impressed with the quality of the scrumptious fares.  A relatively expensive lunch but really worth it. Mum reckons it was great because she chose the items off the menu. Dad reckons it was great because he had the idea and drove us there. I reckon it was great because the grass to sit on was comfortable and tasty - we had chosen a great spot amidst a plethora of choices - extensive and well kept gardens with tables, chairs, lounges, etc etc. that cater for all types of patrons - even dogs.

Dad posed the question of how much land the establishment actually took up in the middle of the extremely picturesque valley? what with it's rushing creek weaving it's way through lush fields, defined by the glowing deciduous trees, a lazy bike track snaking it's way along it, the steep hills, some being seemingly shaved like a business mans face as the pine plantations are cleared off them, seriously dangerous looking steep dirt tracks going up within them, the bright blue sky casting a serene light in from seemingly all angles, the clean crisp air with the ever present hint of eucalyptus always embedded within it. The Olde' worlde' township which was born in depths of colonialism history presenting that charm which can only make one feel wonder and comfort that all is good with the world. The clean smooth roads that made the journey within a joy to behold. I could go on however, as it transpires the answer was... 5 acres. Go figure.

The short trip back to the kennel then saw us all head off down the rail trail, them on their fold-ups and me on my paws. We were heading down towards Pawpunka where had we have done the whole trip I reckon I could've come up with a really clever dog related name twisting pun just on the name alone, however I never got the chance because all Dad wanted to do was show Mum the flowering trees over the trail that were still in the local locale. Thus this pic.

When we got back I was obviously exhausted as I'd just ran about 5kms. Dad took me down to the creek with the obvious intention to get me washed in the creek. I was worn out but always up for a challenge when there is a ball involved. So I got wet. And made damn sure he did too. Creeks are great - just like the stairs at the home kennel. Drop the ball and it inevitably rolls back to them. I don't understand how it works I just know it does.

If he actually threw it downstream I reckon I'd just look at him incredulously projecting "I trust you have another ball". Eventually he gave up trying to tell me what to do because I couldn't be bothered showing too much enthusiasm in chasing a ball downstream that he was gong to eventually collect anyway. So we went back to the kennel on the bank.

Mum wanted to relax a bit and read and Dad said he wanted to ride further up the creek. Suspect the lunch got to him as instead he snoozed a bit in the living room (on the lounge) and eventually succumb to the lunchtime pale ale and reverted to the master bedroom to snooze his way through the warm afternoon bliss with me in harmony on my luxurious pad located in the main hallway some distance away.

Recovering from our restful kip - we dressed up (well they did - I'm hygienic enough naturally not to actually have to deal with changing garments - I'd already groomed myself during the kip). And we wandered back down the creekside to another eatery where I got to yet again sit under a table whilst they consumed their fine wares (pizza, salad and vino) above. Afterwards we stopped by the creek again where they threw sticks into the water and I dutifully jumped in, grabbed them off the top of the water and them dropped them again to wonder why they would drift away in a direction not aligned to my parents position. Weird. That's not what's meant to happen.

Anyway, back at the kennel I could sense a tidy up happening- apparently it all comes to an end tomorrow, however Dad finally started to break the park rules with me off the lead and was throwing the frisbee around the campsite  (across the road etc.) and I was learning to actually bring it all the way back into the deck/patio area as he was not going to do the "good Dad" thing I can sometimes mind control him with. So as we wind this adventure up (being mindful that we need to get home tomorrow so there's got to be a wrap up post) we'd just like to share the notion that the more toes the better.

Closer the toes, the less stress. All paws in I say. How's this for a pawful ending.....

A bright start to the day

The sun was in full flight this morning and doing its reflective bounce off the creek into the translucent green leaves on the bank thing again and Dad was determined to capture the whole event in his unrelenting (and pointless to us kelpies) attempt at making something worthwhile to visually take home. So he spent about 3 hours wrecking a perfectly good sleep in for the rest of the kennels inhabitants by opening and closing the door constantly for the entire time. Each time he did this he stepped on my most stupendous orthopedic bed (not that I have any sort of condition that requires such a luxurious resting abode to help resolve mind you - it is very comfortable though) almost, but not quite, stepping on me on the way past. I reckon he does it on purpose - just to make sure I know that he knows that he could if he wanted to but chooses not to do so. I know what he's up to so I pretend not to notice - playing the cool kelpie. After all - it's not my choice that they choose to put my bedroom in the middle of the hallway. I'll sleep where ever they decree (assuming I'm fed and pooped of course). I'm pretty sure he does know that if he did actually step on me I'd be pretty pissed off and the consequences would be more than dealing with (say) a wet cat from being dropped into a bathtub. Mum dodges around me as well. This whole situation has been exasperated by them moving my bed to far end of the hallway, blocking the entrance to master bedroom. this was done because of the constant cool breeze wafting under the front door, which I admit was a bit chilly down there. Apparently the architects of the mansion had skipped the interior air flow modelling that modern day building regulations decree need to be to adhered to. 

So Dad bounced around the kennel for the first few hours of the day annoying the begeebers out of me by constantly almost stepping on my head and Mum by constantly opening and banging the front door as he undertook his self assigned film crew duties. We both reckon he should take up stamp collecting - at least that way we'd get to sleep in and I'd happily do the licking of them as required.

After I got up, Dad told me the Currawong was about to steal the left over dregs of my bone - whoo hoo - so that made my morning complete. Got to show some authority and dutifully downed the lot.

The mid morning in Bright was very much so as we wandered into town to find a cafe to which I could wait (and worry - will she ever come out again?) whilst they had their caffeine hit and delayed delivery of the accompanying croissant. It's interesting to see the only people that are around town seem to be nomads. And very few of them to boot. There are a lot on noisy motor bikes, many on push bikes - with some seemingly cheating by combining the two with the help of batteries.

All is quiet in Bright mid week on a sunny spring morning. Apparently all that changes on the weekends - and in peak season. Little did we know the weather was about to flip another finger at us - just as we were getting used to the idea of serenity and calmness.

After the cafe whinge (I'm learning I can hurry them along when I'm bored, or cold, or hungry, or wanting to chase something, pee, poo, make a call, trade some stocks... whatever) I dragged them around the quarter of town which we hadn't seen yet. I was happy as I got to be on the move and continue to use my exceptional deduction based decision skills along the way. No shops triggered Mum's desire to use her equivalent skills until we finally got the olde Op Shop. Just before that it was pretty funny when we approached a lady who was attempting to use a hole in wall and realised she was standing on (and possibly smelt) some of my peers poop. She looked at me and hissed "Dogs!!". Dad pointed out that it was the owners fault. She replied that the dog did it and (by inference) dogs should not be allowed. He remarked that it's the owners responsibility to deal with it. Which by the way, my parents do all the time. As previously posted - "I poop - therefore I am" (17th century French canine philosophy) and therefore I do constantly and they always pick it up. The inference from Dad was - don't blame Master Tyrone Shoelaces for some other pooch's owners slackness. I wanted to point out that if she actually watched where she was walking (which I do all the time) she would not have stepped in it regardless and therefore it was actually her fault that she did, I couldn't as all this happened in about 2 seconds of real time and I can't communicate with humans that quickly (should see how long it takes me to create this blog!). So that was the story about the lady getting poop on her shoe whilst at the ATM. It is after all, a dogs tale.

Dad and I left Mum at the Op Shop and walked back to the kennel on wheels. In the Kennel on Wheels Park. I was concerned and kept looking back, Dad told me to get over it, she'll be along shortly. And so I did. A bit of relaxing and then they successfully tried cooking omelets in the AirFrier. A supposedly extraordinary feat to achieve in a kennel on wheels until it was pointed at that they could've just used the frying pan on gas.....

After that yummy (for them) lunch we hopped into the beast and drove down the road to try and find Dezzie.

I wasn't that interested, so we instead stopped at a local winery where we enjoyed the view across to Mount Buffalo whist the weather turned into a blustery cloudy day, threatening to rain but sort of never did - really did try though. We sat around whilst They tasted the fares and I honed my whinging/coercive skills. Back at the Kennel, Mum and I went for a walk around the park to check out the various accommodation offers (e.g. Glamping without the glamour) and for me to splash around in the creek some more, whilst Dad rode the fold-up down to DezziVille and back on the rail trail.

The weather was still trying to be annoying whilst we congregated back at the kennel - not happy that campers have moved into our frisbee park below - curtailing our activities to some extent. It did clear a bit before dinner where the last of the most expensive and salubrious pie was heated and eaten for dinner. I then directed Mum and Dad to work out some future kennel logistics with Grandma and Grandpa - this sort of stuff is tricky to achieve from a dogs perspective - however I persist and they eventually obey.

A journey back in time

We knew it would be cold when awakening - and indeed it was. Astutely waiting a couple of hours after sunrise until the weak warming rays flickered over the hilltops and filtered into the depths of the valley where the kennel is situated in order to take sting out of the air, it was still an effort for the humans to roll out from underneath their copious layers of the aforementioned blankets in order to brace the elements to effect their first pee of the day in those blocky things that they all congregate to when everyone is watching. When they're not, they just go where I do ( I observe but don't comprehend - I'm a kelpie).

The early morning sun was reflecting off the rushing waters below casting a complex pattern of glittering lights on the curtain of green leaves which up until now was blocking the view of the frisbee field below. Now they were putting on their own show which Dad tried to capture on the GoPro. I shake my head sadly at his pitiful attempts at cinematography - whilst I appreciate being there (what the heck - it gets me out and about) - I generally totally ignore them when he plays them back in the home kennel. Now if he did something seriously interesting - like (say) sheep running amok, then I'd be fully onboard.

He left me and Mum in the kennel and returned with coffee for her and acquiescenced to giving me breakfast (same old dried pellets - but who am I to complain? - at least I'm not overweight like some of my peers..... I can smell it in their pee on the posts - one of those many factors I was referring to in that earlier entry) and then we all jumped into the car and headed off along a long winding road, up over a mountain that manged to make both of us passengers fairly queasy. Not saying anything about his driving technique mind you (I'd never be so crass, being a passenger as such) but still....

And so with tumultuous insides we descended into the Kiewa valley, turned right and rolled into the township of mountainous beauty which resides at the end of the flat lands that used to be covered in tobacco. Nowadays it all just looks green and very picturesque.  Dad was born here and spent his puppy years here. He showed us the building he was born in (since replaced), the house he tried to drown the cat in (points for that as far as I'm concerned - reckons he wanted to just give it a bath - yeah right) - the kinder and school which are still there and apparently the squeals coming out of the grounds today are still the same as he emits to this day (good one Mum!). 

They do some weird arty things here, here's a pic of me hanging around under a really big bird of which I had no idea of what was about to happen to me if it was actually a real bird this big. But is it art? I'm a kelpie - it's not within my remit to answer these questions - simply to pose them.

The Cafe in which we stopped to try and settle the stomachs was really appreciated by me at least as I have now perfected the art of putting my ears back when people look at me and they say things like "he's so cute" and then I sit when they suggest it. And then I shake their hand when prompted and then they say  "I'll go get him a treat" and they do. Too easy. Settled tummy. Free snacks. Far better than those boring dried pellets...

We then did something Dad said he never did in his puppy years - we walked the entire circumference of the pondage (~5,000 steps apparently) and got to take in the whole panoramic position of the place - with the majestic mountains in the background (with still a hint of snow on the upper reaches), The Hyrdo infrastructure still in place, the old huge galvanised tin sheds that used to dry the tobacco (long gone) and the trees that 60 years ago adorned the streets are now creating canopies above them. One can see why it's called the mount of beauty - Dad reckons only beautiful people are born here. Mum and I reckon he's full of it.

And so we headed back over the pass into the next valley to which we came from and spent the rest of the afternoon hangin' around the kennel on wheels. Dad dragged me up the creek on the pretense that being a kelpie I like to run along beside him whilst he takes it easy on his bike. I was really feeling like I'd prefer to be back in the kennel with Mum, sleeping off the stress of a few hours sitting idly in a car, however I'm a good dog so I did what I was strongly suggested to do that I should do.

It was fun - I especially liked it when we stopped by the water and he threw sticks in for me to catch. Now this is weird.... I'd put them down and they'd disappear. Dad was pointing and yelling at me that it was downstream "over there" but I'd seen the ducks floating upstream, so surely sticks would do the same thing..... we went though a few sticks. Then we ran/rode downstream back to the kennel where I got to dry off laying in the warm sun on the luxurious lounge on the patio deck whist the parents sorted out their finances in the office.

The original dinner plan was to drive into town and leave me in the car whilst they went inside a fancy pancy restaurant. I'm OK with this notion (basically I'll do whatever - especially if I'm so exhausted from chasing sticks floating upstream all afternoon), however they did their research and apparently the menu was carp.

I think that's what Mum said. Anyway, instead we all walked back down beside the stream (not paying any attention to the plethora of sticks floating by) and into town where I hung around next to bean bags (not on, which would've been awesome) whilst they had beer, taco's and wine surrounded by a bunch of happy youths pretty much doing the same thing. I kept doing my ears back thing and everyone wants me to lick their hands - even though Dad keeps telling me not to. Jeebers that's confusing.

We walked back up by the creek to the kennel - me off lead and basically having a great time. Once there, Dad did what I fully expected him to do and herded me off (bike again) up the hill, over the bridge and into the frisbee field down across the creek from the kennel and we did the catch/return thing until I was totally pooped...making very sure that there is absolutely no way I am ever going to willingly actually hand him the frisbee. I'm doing all this work - he has to put in at least some effort. There may be a huge power imbalance in this relationship but I'm always going to do my darnedest to make sure I have some control and therefore I'm going to drop it here.

Right here and you're going to have to walk over and pick it up yourself. I know you will. You have done it before. You will do it again. There's a good dad... just walk over and pick up, good dad, now point in the direction you're going to throw it, good dad, now throw it, good dad... and I'm off running and now I'll catch it. Good dad - now let's go home and I'll go to bed and snore soundly whilst you stay up document the whole thing..there's a good dad....and don't ever forget - never try to bathe a cat.

Cold to the bone

According to my parents it was not unexpected that the sunny morning turned into a really cold blustery wind that could have been to reason for the kennel park to become well, mostly just a park.

After the big days adventures of yesterday the plan was to basically sit around and do naught. Apparently that was the whole idea of coming here, just enjoy being instead of on the move all the time. Because not much happened today here's a pic of me yesterday below the kennel.

When the waves of grey plumes swept up the valley it seemed the looming surrounding hills focused them with a particular ferociousness at our little kennel perched on the bank. I think Mum and Dad felt it more than me as I have a built in two layer fur coat and don't really feel the icy blasts the way they seem to.

Unlike yesterday when Dad got a lesson in how to react quickly when the wind took off his hat and he jumped up to stop it flying down the bank into the creek whilst the same gust then promptly toppled his deck chair spilling the full stubbie of his last cold beers onto the dirt - I didn't quietly have a laugh to myself today as I did then. Wasn't so funny with all that was happening today was the squalls coming in under the awning and getting their shoes wet.

Mum and I took a chance in a break in the deluges to walk into town, whilst Dad settled down in the dining room to do some reading, with a real book. I must say these people do look different when their faces are not lit by the glow of their devices. After a fab adventure into town where I got to hang out the front of shops whilst she went in, hang in cafe whilst she consumed some extraordinarily priced coffee and the purchase of my highlight of the day - a wonderfully smelling bone. They label this perfume "Rancid" and I just can't get enough of it. If I could bottle it I would. I'd be the most entrepreneurial kelpie on the planet, with high end stores in all the most expensive strips. Dogs would come from miles around in order to get in on the action. I tried to bury it within the (verbally expressed) bounds of our kennel, but there was nowhere that really worked. In the end I just got frustrated with all the dirt and grit stuck to it and left it to mature on the annex mat. Then we (me and Dad) spent the rest of the day fighting off the Currawongs that wanted a piece of it as well. 

Dad took off for a while on the fold-up to explore the trails along the river and then returned carrying some local vino he found in a local shop and seemed very pleased with himself. I noticed, but didn't pay him any credence in his efforts as I had a gritty bone to try and stash nearby (and thus improve the potency of the perfume). Later the rain came in harder waves, Dad read a bit more in the living room and then when the sun came out - went and captured the creek canopy on the GoPro whilst reading some more in the sun room.

Mum spent her time reading (and surfing) in the bedroom. I'm getting really good at waiting at the kennel whilst they go off to pee. Needless to say - when they do go I will wait attentively for their return. When the next wave of rain came through we headed inside and I lay around in the dogs room whilst they played scrabble in the games room.

After the game (Mum trouncing the opposition with the highest ever score with Dad complaining about the plethora on vowels dealt to him in the game of life) we all headed out onto the patio as the lowering sun briefly warmed the deck area under the pergola. They to consume their pre's and nibbles whilst I finally got stuck into the now matured bone. Personally would have preferred to wait until tomorrow, however I instinctively knew it was now or lose it for good - to many creatures wandering around here, not like my home kennel where I can bury these treasures for months without them being disturbed. Life on the road - use it or lose it is the kelpies credo. After the consumption I did lay around on my patio lounge whilst admiring the setting sun.

I then lay around on my indoors palatial bed whilst they ran around the kitchen (room) figuring out how to cook an extremely expensive family pie in an airfrier. Suspect this is why we go out more often than not when on the road. And so as the evening extends into night the predicted coldness settles on the kennel. Apparently we're looking at 1 degree by the time the sun decides to pop over the hill tops. If I had've left that bone out there it'd be frozen - yeech - where'd be the perfume then?