That night I wanted to sleep in the communal room again, but there were other people sitting on my couch watching television, and by twelve my eyes were burning from watching to see if they were gone yet, but oh, no, they sat like they have been nailed to the bally couch! So, watching and listening to the three on the other side of the sheiling, everyone of them a hazard to the strongest nervous system, as the one was snoring and gasping and grinding teeth with a wide open mouth, while the other two, the ones with four legs, were snoring and wimpering and scratching, but together it was an ungodly bally racket.When my phone showed the hour to be one, I knew that I just had to try and fall asleep, and I was now looking at them, wondering if a tissue or two in their mouths would not soften the hideous noises that came out of there.
I decided that it might not be a good idea, as I only wanted to quieten them for the night, not forever,so I rolled two little sausages with the tissues and stuck it up my ears! Did help a wee bit, but I then took an overdose of my herbal sleeping capsules, meaning three in total, and lay down with my book, trying to read myself into oblivion!
When dawn broke I was still trying to sleep, so I got up, donned my warm clothes and hiking boots and went down to the beach to say goodbye to my two otter friends. It was such an eerie feeling this otters gave me, as I was sure that they knew me, and as I went for a walk every morning before Liz woke up, I found them kind of waiting on the rocks. Then they would watch me intently while I talk towards them, asking them how they were and so on, and when I started walking, they followed me all the way, playing in the waves and showing off something terrible.The feeling that I was actually interacting with this two wild animals was just unbelievably satisfying, but also humbling, and I thought myself lucky to be liked and played with by two such lovely things!
I was sad, as we were leaving this day, and the thought of me not walking with my otters ever again was a sobering thought that brought a wee depression onto me.
Before going to Fishnish for our ferry, we wanted to go to Loch Sgabain, where a huge and ferrocious dragon used to rule, and on top of Beinn Fhada was still an indent where his body had worn it out, lying there waiting for his prey.
One of the many small kings of that time was so traumatized by this monster, that he promised the hand of his daughter to the man who killed the dragon. One day a young man came on land at Kinloch, and he started laying a pathway of barrels, in which sharp projecting spikes were driven, between his ship and the shore. He then, armed with his sgian dubh (black knife) brought a herd of cattle from the ship and started driving them up the glen towards the dragon's lair. He then led the dragon, who saw this wonderful feast coming towards him, on and up to where the barrels started, by killing cattle one by one and throwing it to this gluttenous  beast. The last cow was kept on the ship, and as the young man saw the dragon coming towards him where he had just left the last slaughtered cow, he ran nimbly over the barrels and onto the ship. The dragon swallowed the cow that was left, and then, seeing the live cow on the ship, started running over the barrels, where he was quickly impaled by the spikes.
The evidence was brought to the king, but as history does not say anything about it, nobody knows whether the king's daughter was worth all this trouble! Ha-ha!
As we drove away from Craignure and the sheilings, I thought about Staffa Cottage, where I watched the world come alive every morning,and about my otters, and I was sad!