Fred

We just passed a school zone sign that’s been knocked over. Bad sign.

We’re on our way to civilisation. Kinda. We already tried the nearest town and it only has a post office, bar, and a general store... that’s it.

So off we go on a half-hour drive to the next closest. STAB.

The sheep here are strange looking. And apparently the Highland Cows (Heeland coos) looked crossed with sheep and have horns, although I’ve yet to see one.

We’ve got a pet, of sorts. The aldy told us there’s a friendly pig that comes to visit. “Awesome!!” I thought. Then, Fred showed up.

You know the pig you think of when someone talks of a huge disgusting pig? That’s Fred.

Humoungus, hairy, filthy, and smelly, with an enormous upturned snout. The kind I would imagine that pig farmer in BC fed those butchered whores too. Very Lord of the Flies.

Yummy.

I’d prolly like him better if her weren’t so dirty and smelly.

And how’d we end up in the part of Skye/Scotland that looks less like pretty green BC and more like Alberta if Ab had more rain? I mean, we’re passing gorgeous places (although I still don’t think it’s as pretty as the mainland), yet where we’re staying is all long yellow grass and such.

Lah.

Pink is Blair.