We arrive in Dunkeld, Perthshire, in southern Scotland, about two hours from Edinburgh in slowish traffic. We pass through many quaint villages and arrive at an old, lavish, castle-like entrance. In a kilometre, on a single-track road, the stately Dunkeld House Hotel, with a river passing close by; it’s our overnight stay. We spot three people fishing from a boat in the fast but not so deep river. This is salmon country.

Dunkeld House opened in 1900 and is a three-storey, long-fronted property. If you bring your dog, the ground floor is where you stay. Not sure why we are on the ground floor? There are lots of families and lots of dog owners. The dogs are also on holiday.

Once checked in, we head to the sleepy village. We cross a large old bridge over the River Tay, which is quite active. We note this is an extremely dog-friendly village. The hotel and limited shops welcome dogs. What we see here are not your normal pooches. There are the elite, well-bred, short, tall, elegant, snooty and working dogs. The heart of this old town has its own charm and 1960s shop fronts.

One large three-star hotel has odd dog statues at the door. Inside, a host of dog paintings. Dogs and owners welcome.

We have an excellent meal served by the head waiter, Ravinda, who is Sri Lankan and comes from just outside Kandy, not Victoria.

Dogs in the lounges make themselves at home, lots of sniffing, no barking or begging. I go for the fish dish, and the others have Scottish soup, haddock and Chaucer pie, not a curry in sight.

An old church, now an antique shop next door to the hotel, faces the river, with a few restaurants on the waterfront. Again, dogs with owners everywhere. There is one taxi driver only in the village, we are told, a lady, so we book her for our return trip.

The next morning, it’s a large breakfast, including two lots of salmon. The driver on this Scotland trip is the Whinging Pome. I haven’t driven for a few years, so the new Ford car looks like a spaceship. It’s raining, and the sky is dark. We are heading to the Blairgowrie Highland Games event. I’ve seen them on TV but not in real life. The rain is down to a Scottish drizzle as we enter a field that may have a few thousand cars later. I park at the entrance gate. If heavy rain comes, it will be messy.

There is a massive sports field with an oval area in which most of the sporting events will be held. There is a running track on the outer side, and various games are going on in the middle.

The marching band comes on, kilted men and women playing drums and bagpipes, the crowd roaring with delight. The competition of tossing the caber starts, men and ladies, then a serious tug of war, kids, women and men’s events. A bagpipe competition, tedious after ten minutes. There are chain and ball throwing events, running races, cross-country, hurdles. A well-dressed, accented compère in full Highland dress keeps us well informed.

Round the outside of the oval arena are tents selling lots of local products, beer, whisky, clothes and pictures and more. Jezzabel buys two. The logistics as to how they get back to Colombo are not her worry.

Every third couple has a dog or two or more. Some have coats. One has a message on his coat, “Don’t pat me.”

We have been well entertained for four hours and want to leave before the masses.

It is time to find our terraced cottage for the night. Initially, the place looks drab, but we find the river and an amazing church that has been converted into a restaurant. Great idea. Rather than letting them decay and become a burden, sell them off.

So we all head out of Scotland, having enjoyed our first Highland Games. The rain did its best, the dogs enjoyed themselves, the whisky was consumed, and the Highlanders put on a great show. Not a bad way to spend a few days in Scotland.