Taking to the air!

As we walked back towards the Sylvanian Village, we spotted a big empty field, with lots of flat grass and no cows at all. "What a waste of grass" we thought, until we came to a gap in the hedge, and there we saw the most wonderful aeroplane. It was shiny and superfast looking, with a huge propeller on the front, and had clearly been designed with an adventure seeking pup in mind! I walked around it to check out the controls and reached up to the canopy that covered the little cockpit. It opened! I was just about to climb in and start her up when I noticed the little Molebabe looking sad. "What's the matter?", I asked him. "It's a single-seater - there would be no room for me!", he wailed. Oh dear, I hadn't thought of that. Reluctantly, I closed the canopy and we walked away. Perhaps it was just as well, though, as my experience of flying planes is very limited - well zero to be exact. I sat in one for seven hours when I first came here from Labrador, and nothing much seemed to happen - just watching films and being brought food - so it can't be that difficult. But I suppose the landing might be a bit tricky.

So we still have the problem - what can we use to get down to Oxford quickly and safely to visit the Mole and his Boy?

Two wheels good, four wheels better!

After my disappointing attempt to borrow a bicycle, I decided that motorised transport was they way to go. And fortunately I knew just where to find a car! There aren't many cars in Sylvania, but the Mr and Mrs Furbanks (Kenneth and Emma to their friends) have a big old-fashioned American car. They say that they got it "when we were in Hollywood, darling", but being squirrels they mostly chase about the trees and hardly ever use it.

I took the Molebabe over to the car and lifted him up so I could pass him in through the open window. He opened the door and I got in and seated myself behind the steering wheel. I thought we were about to start out on a great adventure, until I remembered that you need a key to start a car. Also it's probably best if your paws can reach the pedals to make it stop and go. Never mind, we had a great hour or so with me pretending to drive and the mole making brumming noises. We set off back home for tea, but then as we were passing a large open field we saw something even more exciting!

Bobby's back!

Hello again everybody! As you may have noticed, I haven't updated my story for quite a long time now. The main reason is that I have been busier now that I'm going to Big School, but also because a certain Mole asked me to be his biographer. I didn't realise how much work that would be. We wait ages for his GoogleMole messages and then he expects his Blog to updated within moments. He says his fans are impatient, but we all know who the impatient one is!

Anyway, the Mole has been away for ages now with his Boy, and although some people like the peace and quiet, some smaller animals seem to miss him a lot. So much so, in fact that a little Molebabe came crying to me the other day saying that he just couldn't wait until Mole came home to see him, and could we visit him in Oxford? Well, I couldn't see why not - I mean, how far can Oxford be for a Pup who's already travelled from Labrador?

Of course, I knew it was far enough away to require transport, and, as luck would have it, I spotted a nice black, shiny bicycle leaning against a wall. It even had a basket in the front, just the right size for the Molebabe to sit in. Off we set, and things were going swimmingly until we went past the Sylvanian Police Station. "'Ello, 'ello what's going on 'ere?" said a gruff voice. I screeched to halt, and there was PC Badger, looking less than impressed. Apparently it was his bike!

It took a bit of explaining, but we managed to calm PC Badger down, and convinced him that we were just borrowing his bike for a practice. He didn't really mind, but he told us that Oxford is far too far for a bike ride. he said "You'll need something with a bit more oomph than that!". And that gave me an idea....

He's Gynormous!!

You could have knocked me down with a sprig of heather when I met Uncle Big Wee Jock! I never thought that a haggis could be bigger than me! He was completely round and so furry that it was very difficult to tell which end was which. In fact, I was talking to him for at least 10 minutes before I realised that he was lying on his back. he said he was"taking a rest after a wee dram" whatever that might mean. Actually I'm pretty sure that he just wanted his tummy tickling - haggises are just like puppies in that respect.

After this, I'm not sure I can take too much more highland excitement. Also it's getting pretty drafty in a kilt now we're getting towards autumn. Next time you see me, I think I'll have trusty trousers and boots back on!

A haggis a last!

...but not quite what I expected! After much unfruitful searching, we finally took some advice from a local expert. Instead of endlessly tramping about in the hills (or braes as they call them around here) we decided to set a trap. We balanced a cardboard box on a stick and under it we placed two items that we were assured were irresistible to any haggis; a Tunnock's teacake (unwrapped of course) and a small glass of finest Malt Scotch. Then we tied a long piece of cotton to the stick and retired to a place of concealment. After about an hour of uncomfortable waiting (heather is very scratchy in the wrong places, I can assure you) we heard some some snuffling and squeaking from the box. Although we couldn't see anything, we guessed it must be a haggis and pulled the string. The box plopped down, and we ran over to it so see what we had captured.

As we picked the box up, we heard a small voice singing an old highland song*, and we were certain then that we had got our first haggis.

Imagine our surprise then, when we lifted up the box and were faced not with a small white furry creature, but a bright purple one.

"You're not a haggis - you're purple!" I exclaimed in amazement.

"Am ah no? Then what de ye ken ah am then, ye wee sassenach pup?", came the reply. "Do ye think we're all tartan jobs frae the souvenir shop?"

Well that clinched it. We were clearly mistaken and he definitely was the genuine article. We apologised and, when he had calmed down he explained that his name was Tiny Wee Jock McHaggis of Glenmore. He also told us how, quite against popular belief, haggises come in all colours and sizes, and they're not all white at all - and none of them are tartan.

We soon became good friends, and I was able to ask him a question that had been bothering me ever since he told us his name. "If you're Tiny Wee Jock, does that mean there are much bigger haggises?".

"Oh aye", he replied. "If you like, I'll take ye to meet mah great Uncle Big Wee Jock". Well that sounded great, and what could there be to worry about - I mean, how big could a haggis be?

* The song turned out to be called "Plankton's Lament, or Whale Meet Again". Or something like that.

Give me a clue!

After my unfortunate case of mistaken identity involving Rabbie the Scottish sheep, I realised that I needed to do some more research. I mean, I knew that haggises are round and furry, but so are lot of creatures. So how do you distinguish a haggis from all the other highland creatures? I asked James for some advice and he said that they have a very distinctive squeak, made when alarmed, angry, sleepy, relaxed or alert.

Armed with this useful information, I set off for an extended Haggis hunt. I couldn't believe my luck when after only a few minutes I gained my first contact! I rushed around the corner, eager to meet my first ever haggis in person - and who should I meet but a very small hamster, taking some exercise in his wheel.

I have to admit to being a bit disappointed at first, but once I got chatting to young Hamish (that was the hamster's name) I realised that making a new friend is just as exciting as discovering a new species. And anyway, Hamish says that he's going to help me and Jack on our search!

Oops - my mistake!

Well, it might have big, round, white and furry, but it definitely wasn't a haggis! As soon as I tugged on a handful of fur, I realised my mistake. There was a very loud, cross sounding baaing noise, and I came face to face with the largest sheep I've ever seen. For a moment I thought James and I were in real trouble, as the ram glowered down at us with his fearsome horns and wild eyes. But then Jack, thinking quickly, said "Good morning to ye, good sir, will ye no take a wee drop of tea with us?". The ram was taken aback by the politeness of the young pig, and, although I didn't realise this, Scottish sheep are apparently very fond of tea - special sheep tea if possible. Anyway, he came back to Jack's house with us, and on the way, we became quite friendly. He explained that is his name is Rabbie, of the clan MacBleat, and he is a highland ram by birth. We told Rabbie all about our quest to find the legendary haggis, and he agreed to be our guide. So everything turned out really well in the end.