Yes, I'm telling you about the Big Cattle roundup. Not that the cattle are big - though Eric isn't a small boy, or that they were a lot of cattle but it just sounds more impressive.
Oh how very brave The Crofter was, shouted, waved his stick and everything but Eric and Co were not for playing. They trotted this way and that enjoying themselves as The Crofter breathlessly followed behind, stick frantically waving.
Now, Eric is a big boy. I may have mentioned that before but he is a big kind softie. I know this from personal experience,I went to Dingwall with The Crofter when he adopted Eric. But he is big and if he wants to go left, he goes left. Right and you follow him right. Doesn't help in getting the coows back in a field at all. But along came Chris the hired hand, purposeful stick in hand, confidence oozing from his pores and Eric knew he was defeated. He came my way, his pals following behind. I smiled kindly as he came close and I shook in my boots, waved my - whatever I had in my hand [an Olympus OM1n for the photographically geeked] and miraculously Eric trotted into the temporary pen - a former caravan park bounded by string and typical leaning posts of Hebridean fences.
On the Isle of Lewis off the west coast of mainland Scotland lies a croft inhabited by an English off-comer. His Mum and Dad live nearby and help him run the croft. This is a photographic record of their lives as it unfolds.