Galloway is famous for its goats. Some of the old herds have been living wild since the days of Robert the Bruce and, while they can’t be classified as truly native, it’s hard to ignore centuries of freedom and independence. It’s not uncommon to find goats on the loneliest hilltops during the summer months and I’m often cheered by the jolly sound of their bleating in steep, desolate mountain places between Newton Stewart and Carsphairn.
The Galloway Hills have some excellent place names to describe steep cliffs and treacherous mountain passes. When I was a teenager, I found an immaculately preserved billy goat’s skeleton in a lonely spot called Nick o’ the Dungeon. Ignoring the horrible smell, I pulled off
