The guy we asked in the parking lot said it’d be about 20 minutes to the base of the mountain, and then another 30 to the top. It was more like 30 to the base and 40 to the top. A repeated “We’re almost there” did nothing to soothe Doris’ frustrations–especially since every time we got to what I thought to be the peak, the mountain continuously proved me wrong. However, even Doris couldn’t deny the beauty of the view that awaited us at the top–even if she was eager to make her way back down.

And look who we ran into when we were back on flat ground!

Papa Vader stopped by for a quick visit and to try to convince me to come back to the Empire. It didn’t work. I’m not ready yet.

Next we set off for the mighty Cliffs of Moher.

Waaaaaay down at the very end, you might see a wee tiny little tower. That part is called Hag’s Head. The tower was built by the British as a signal tower during the Napoleonic Wars. Eighty-one towers were planned/built all along the coast of Ireland. After Napoleon had his ass handed to him, the towers were abandoned. The Cliffs are named after a fort that once stood on Hag’s Head.

This tower, known as O’Brien’s Tower, was built by a fella named O’Brien in 1835. Clever name. He was a Member of Parliament. We didn’t go up, though, because you had to pay to go up, and we aren’t about that life.

Had we not already hiked up Torc Mountain, we probably would have hiked more along the Cliffs. Unfortunately, it was hella-cold and hella-windy, and I’d already put Doris through enough for one day. And so we didn’t stay too long.

It’s a hell of a drug.

This dog was such a gangsta. We were driving along, and he just stood there in the middle of the road, not willing to move. When he finally did move–of his own choosing, of course–he followed us for a few minutes as we slowly drove away, as if to say, “And don’t you come back here again! This is my turf!”

Doris became such a rebel on this tour. She was out of control. I couldn’t keep her from disobeying the rules.