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ROY 'The Good'



Roy was a border Collie...I bought him as a young dog from Portadown NI. He worked my farm on the North Shores of Ardnamurchan...for the two years I lived there. On his own he managed 450 Blackies, and 20 or so Highland cattle.
The purchase of ROY in itself was a hilarious event, involving ferries, being searched by the British Military, the total destruction of the rear seats of a hire car...a monumental hangover brought about by the luck penny, and one of the best nights out in Belfast that any brit with a dog should expect?

After a stormy few years Roy and I were blown onto the lee shores of Tiree in September 1999.
And we bought a cottage by the sea.

Fun followed fun, and I met my soul mate, and we now have two beautiful sons.

We all love each other equally, though there will always be an empty space in my heart that was occupied by 'Roy'...he was; ~Fidelity~ He worked the green swards of Northern Ireland, and then worked the hills of Ardnamurchan. He was admired and loved by all who knew him. He never snapped at lamb or child, but stood his ground with ewe, ram and Highland cattle. He was a master hole digger of biblical proportions and shared his love and understanding of the hills and the sea with me.

I miss him so very much...

He left me at the rip old age of 16 and is buried (in a hole he would have been proud of) on a hill looking west over the Atlantic and on onwards toward every mystical sunset that the beautiful Isle of Tiree has to offer.

.

Fidelity

A BARKING sound the Shepherd hears,
A cry as of a dog or fox;
He halts--and searches with his eyes
Among the scattered rocks:
And now at distance can discern
A stirring in a brake of fern;
And instantly a dog is seen,
Glancing through that covert green.

The Dog is not of mountain breed;
Its motions, too, are wild and shy;

With something, as the Shepherd thinks,
Unusual in its cry:
Nor is there any one in sight
All round, in hollow or on height;
Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear;
What is the creature doing here?

It was a cove, a huge recess,
That keeps, till June, December's snow;
A lofty precipice in front,
A silent tarn below!

Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,
Remote from public road or dwelling,
Pathway, or cultivated land;
From trace of human foot or hand.

There sometimes doth a leaping fish
Send through the tarn a lonely cheer;
The crags repeat the raven's croak,
In symphony austere;
Thither the rainbow comes--the cloud--
And mists that spread the flying shroud;

And sunbeams; and the sounding blast,
That, if it could, would hurry past;
But that enormous barrier holds it fast.

Not free from boding thoughts, a while
The Shepherd stood; then makes his way
O'er rocks and stones, following the Dog
As quickly as he may;
Nor far had gone before he found
A human skeleton on the ground;
The appalled Discoverer with a sigh

Looks round, to learn the history.
From those abrupt and perilous rocks
The Man had fallen, that place of fear!
At length upon the Shepherd's mind
It breaks, and all is clear:
He instantly recalled the name,
And who he was, and whence he came;
Remembered, too, the very day
On which the Traveller passed this way.

But hear a wonder, for whose sake
This lamentable tale I tell!
A lasting monument of words
This wonder merits well.
The Dog, which still was hovering nigh,
Repeating the same timid cry,
This Dog, had been through three months' space
A dweller in that savage place.

Yes, proof was plain that, since the day
When this ill-fated Traveller died,
The Dog had watched about the spot,

Or by his master's side:
How nourished here through such long time
He knows, who gave that love sublime;
And gave that strength of feeling, great
Above all human estimate!

William Wordsworth


Had this poem been written directly about the old rascal he would probably have done one of two things...dug a big hole to bury the victim in, or gnawed on my bones. Either would have been fine by me...so Roy I know you are out there, always beyond the next brae, save me a patch of warm heather and a view of the Highlands and sea...and one day my most faithful friend we shall share some bilberries again...



Miss you.