Yesterday morning dawned grey and wet, but nothing would obstruct Margaret’s and my making our way to Pollok Country Park. Why, you ask? (The very question betrays your ignorance of autumn in Glasgow, for everyone who’s anyone will have had this Saturday marked weeks ago.) It turns out that, when Margaret was stranded in Baltimore and felt uncertain that she would ever be accorded the privilege of residence in this realm of Scotland, she and Jeneane fixed their attention on 2 October, the date of the annual Highland Cattle Show in Glasgow.
Yes, the weather was damp at best (and sodden the rest of the time); yes, the turf was marshy; yes Katie the Border Collie was a novice at herding Indian Runner Ducks, to the frustration of Mark Wylie; yes, Margaret and I made a transportation misstep that entailed an extra four miles of walking. Yes to all of that, but nothing could obscure the glory of a two-year-old Highland heifer waving
his her horns a few inches in front of your face. These lovely, massive beasts command respectful attention, and attend we most certainly did.
We walked a lot, soaked up a lot of rain, tracked through plenty of mud, but we saw Big Calder (the inflatable highlander), the Drakes of Hazzard, Her Royal Majesty’s prize two-year-old, the World’s Biggest Rabbit, and sundry other attractions. We had a good long walk. We came through the drizzle and rain with our spirits up and our health intact. And Margaret got to see her Highland Cattle. +1 Glasgow.