Hamish a.k.a The Devil’s Eyebrow

Story 1 (true but a bit disgusting) Late one night he got in the pond then in my bed so I shut him in my bedroom and he had to poo then ate the poo to hide it then sicked up the poo and when I woke up the smell was bad so I opened the door and it was all smeared under and
He gave me a remorse-free, cheery look to say “This is clearly all your doing.”
Such was, indeed, the case.
Story 2 (less disgusting but says more about me than Hamish)
We went to the park at dusk and by the time we got to the bottom it was quite dark and he wouldn’t come to heel but the vet said you must never give in to a Scottie so I stood my ground and had been shouting commands at him for quite some time before I felt an inquiring nose at my calf. I then realised I had spent ten minutes bellowing “HEEL” at one of those poo bins on a stick.