Outer Hebrides - Arrival

Ullapool, just before boarding our ferry “Oh, he’s adorable!” I look down the lead in my hand to the small, scruffy brown and white dog at the other end. Sherlock is slowly dripping water, collected in his undercarriage fur from the rain-soaked streets of Ullapool, onto the hotel reception floor. We’ve just been for Sherlock’s last walk of the day before we turn in ready for our early start tomorrow. “I have a cockapoo just like him back home.” I return my gaze to the small, white-haired lady standing in front of me. From her accent she is from the US. “Um, he’s actually a Cavachon.” I reply, knowing that I’m treading a well-worn verbal path. “He’s a cross between a Cavalier King Charles spaniel and a Bichon Frise.” I add. Not for the first time I am struck by the irony that this handily shortened breed name has to be explained long-windedly every time someone meets Sherlock. Unbowed by my pedantry, Sherlock’s new admirer bends down to pe...