Surrogacy

Lest we should suffer from the regrettable absence of the labradors, in the deep north under the benign despotism of Dr Biswell, Ben the trailhound has selflessly offered himself as a surrogate. He is an exceedingly handsome dog with strong and marked views on a number of topics, not least of them, the spot on the sofa nearest the window, where he is currently snoozing. We are having a rather quiet day, partly because it has poured with rain, and also because yesterday ended with a party; since four of the guests were members of a folk band and the hostess a musician, not unnaturally, the evening ended in song; a bodhran and a penny whistle appeared as if by magic, and our hostess got out her fiddle. An extensive and various musical repertory was plundered, and an exciting time was had by all. I did find it quite strange to find that at one point, we were all singing about the Barnyards of Delgaty, which is where the Professor and I actually live. Anyway, it was fun, but left us disinclined for much excitement today.

2 Responses to “Surrogacy”

  1. Jonathan Says:

    I discovered ‘The Barnyards of Delgaty’ for the first time last week. Yes, strange to think that this is where you live and unfortunate / amusing that the author refers to it in such unfavourable terms - ‘Sae fare ye weel, ye Barnyards, Ye’ll never catch me here again!’

  2. Jane Says:

    In mitigation, we are the other side of the hill: I refer to our immediate neighbour, when I have occasion to, as ‘Barnyards’, since he is the actual proprietor in question. I am sorry to say that his reputation locally is very much in line with that of his 18th century forebears, in that he is rumoured to be remarkably keen, even for a farmer, to get a job done for a wee bit less than the going rate. But it is Delgaty hill that lofts above our house as well as the Barnyards themselves.

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