After our mad dash down the Sound of Bute, we swung round the east side of
Little Cumbrae to take a break at its castle.
No sooner had we spread our light luncheon victuals than the islands pack of dogs raced up to investigate our arrival with much barking.
As soon as they realized that sandwiches were available the barking stopped.
They then hung round with the most pitifully hungry hang dog expressions. This despite looking like some of the best fed dogs in all of those many isles that lie scattered furth the mainland of Scotland.
Long after the sandwiches had disappeared, much snuffling round the rocks ensured that not even the smallest crumb was missed.
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