I'm not sure this warrants a diary, but I can't shake the feeling it might, so I'll let you guys decide :-)
Join me bellow the cleverly disguised orange jacket and find out more...
This morning, I was in Torshavn - in Faroese there should be an accent on the 'o', in Danish an 'h' after the 'T'. Either way it means Thor's port or harbor (port is Latin, harbor is Germanic in origin).
However you spell it, I needed to get on a flight to Copenhagen in the early afternoon but had to check out in the late morning. And before you say "What! Needed!?!"; well, let's talk after you've been away from your partner for several months, and volcanoes and stuff might get in the way. I miss her more than I can put into words. Sure, it's not Alberto Gonzalez - organ failure level hurt, but still...
Anyway, I checked out, an hour too late, but I had asked and received approval to do so beforehand. I still had two hours before the shuttle to the airport (Vagat/FAE), which is 50km away, and on a different island. So I walked down to the harbor to take some extra photos, maybe spot a few birds, drink most of the rest of my soda and maybe buy a few souvenirs. Well, I bumped into a shop with souvenirs, but I'm not a browser so I picked a couple of things for myself, a present for my Mom, my partner, my nieces and nephew...
That's when my day took a strange twist.
While I was walking along the seafront of the port, a sheep dog came up to me, ironically very sheepishly. I wanted to reassure it - I love woozles so much - so I patted it. That's all I did. He (one does not need to examine a dog very closely to see whether it's a she or a he) followed me onto rocks, across streets, I sat on a bench, twice. Twenty minutes the second time. By this time I knew he had a collar and a tag. I tried to gently lose him a few times. He has an owner (or parent - I prefer the term guardian, because the former two are nonsense). Just because he liked me didn't give me any rights.
Yeah, still no 'beef'. Sorry.
I walked back to where I had been staying, my new found friend - despite chasing birds and cars and cats - kept up with me. I won't lie, it was nice to have him there. He was sweet and loyal and cuddly.
But then the wasp-thing happened. Not the arrogant WASP country club kind, the yellow jacket kind. This nice dog snapped at every wasp that came by... unfortunately I only found this out when one came near to my eye and the dog attacked it. Wasp panics, sting! Pain!
Don't get me wrong - it's just a sting, it still hurts a bit, but no biggy. An inch to the right... that would have been in my eye, that might have been a biggy. The manager of the place I had been staying witnessed this, got me some ice and said sorry. I replied that it wasn't his fault, nor the dog's. We both joked that this dog would stop trying to catch wasps once it caught one. But he caught and killed three that I saw (afterwards) - twice witnessed by others... So much for what we knew...
Eventually the airport shuttle minivan came, and I got on... the dog wanted to get on too. The driver asked me if he was my dog. I said no, because it was the truth.