The sun has been blazing down in Dingle. Well, sort of. The weather has been stupendous up until today, and that means that farmers have been burning gorse to clear pasture up on the hills before the seasonal ban comes into effect. According to a friend, there were more than 100 fires in the Dingle area yesterday.
The smoke, oddly enough, had no intention of rising and floating away. Instead, it meandered down into town, where it settled in and made itself at home. The photo on the right was taken in the middle of the afternoon, and it sure was murky.
So what do you do if you want to take a stroll? We drove up to the fresh mountain air at the top of Conor Pass.
There, in the parking lot, we were greeted by a goat. Yes, indeed, she (I think it was a she, even though she had a beard) trotted up to the car and bleated for attention. She looked to be feral (Dingle used to be known for wild goats) and seemed somewhat arthritic, which is perhaps why she was hanging around looking for handouts. I sadly didn’t have any ice cream on me, but an apple core, tossed from a passing car, interested her greatly.
She didn’t much like to be petted, perhaps because one horn appeared to be damaged and was wrapped close to her head, so we left her and headed up the hill. She bleated a few times and then followed.
We walked, and she trotted along behind for the first 500 meters or so, before she became distracted by an especially tasty patch of grass. She raised her head andÂ bleated out an invitation for us to join in the grazing, but we politely declined and kept walking.
When we returned, she was back in the parking lot, scaring a car-full of tourists who were put off by her over-eager approach. I tried to pet her again. She butted away my hand, maybe offended that we had spurned her grazing invitation.
If she sticks around, she could become a permanent fixture on the Conor Pass like Fungie in Dingle Bay. I’d say she would take some getting used to, however, to judge by the haste with which the tourists drove off and by my slightly sore hand. Maybe those folks in Killorglin know what they are doing, sticking their goat high up on a pedestal, but I don’t know. A goat up close and personal is kind of fun.