Eau de Crotte de Mutton

Doppelgnager Shreddies and an apple.

Today I walked up Ben Tianaviag with a couple of Hughs and my hound Harry, who -- I realise -- used the expedition to douse himself in his favourite scent: Eau de Crotte de Mutton.

This is clear to me now that he is curled up in my lap and a familiar smell is wafting its way into my nostrils. And to think how diligently we steered him away from the dead dogfish on the beach, so he wouldn't roll in that. At least that would have been a new olfactory experience; sheep shit is both pongy and prosaic.