My husband once gifted me two square feet of land. 

The land is in a wildlife habitat in Scotland. The fee for purchasing those two square feet paid to rewild the terrain. 

When we traveled to Scotland two years ago, three destinations made our itinerary:  

Edinburgh, Loch Ness, and my land in the wildlife refuge. 

Now, I’ve whined to you guys for years about camping, reptiles, and portable toilets.  

So when I tell you my land is in Glencoe — known for its hiking and mountain climbing — you’re thinking does that husband of hers know her the way we do? He bought her two square feet of land in the wilds of Scotland? What, was the Amazon River basin unavailable?  

But I was thrilled.  

No, seriously. Thrilled!  

And not dissecting at all the possible ulterior motive behind a gift in Scotland’s backcountry. 

When my land became a destination in our Scottish itinerary, I went all-in. I was determined to dedicate this leg of our trip to my husband. My Brawny paper towel man, Ron Swanson, Green Acres husband. 

First, I took an online Scottish mountaineering course.  

Do you know what the main takeaway was? The one thing the course wanted you as a new Scottish mountaineer to know? 

It was that death is a probability in poorly planned hikes. 

Which obviously means death is a probability in any Scottish hike. 

Right? 

I mean, people die in Glencoe’s mountains all the time. Three people died there six weeks after we got home. 

Also, a few of the mountains in Glencoe are named for people who died hiking the mountains there. 

It’s like scuba certification. The main lesson in scuba is never hold your breath.  

Unless you want your lungs to explode. 

Not wanting to survive the plane ride — or scuba — only to be done in by a hike, I tried booking a guide.  

But Scotland is a small place. Glencoe, obviously, is even smaller. When the cab driver took us to my land — more on that in a minute — the staff at the refuge asked which cab service we used. 

“Kinlochleven,” I said. 

“Oh, Peter!” they said. “Peter’s great!” 

And Peter is great. I know firsthand because Peter makes up the entirety of Kinlochleven Taxi Company’s staff. 

So even three months out from our trip, all two guides in the Glencoe area were booked. 

That left me.  

Me.  

I planned our hike in Glencoe. 

We should be dead.  

But what we discovered was a trailhead an hour-plus walk from our hotel.  

Rural Scotland doesn’t exactly have public transportation, and the cabs require booking weeks in advance. 

All things I didn’t discover until we were there. 

I lucked out booking Peter of Kinlochleven Taxi Company on 24 hours’ notice. Not only for the ride to my land, but for the quasi-hike he mapped out for us. It ran from the visitor’s center to our hotel. 

I mean, the trail was right next to the road. 

That’s like taking me to EPCOT and telling me it’s Europe. 

I’ll appreciate the gesture, but you and I both know EPCOT isn’t Europe. 

Later, sitting by the loch behind our hotel, nursing a Scottish beer, I sulked over the tepid hike.  

If my husband were the one to dissect motives, he might notice my legs of the trip — Loch Ness and Edinburgh — were planned with the rigor of a 1970s NASA space flight. 

I gazed at the mountains — the ones we should be hiking. 

And that’s when I saw it. 

A large, brown animal, chased by a smaller white animal. 

Excited, I pointed out the duo to my husband. 

Wildlife! Real, Scottish wildlife! I hadn’t ruined Glencoe after all! We were outside, on a loch, mountains surrounding us, and there were animals! Running! Hunting! 

Or, you know, mating. 

“Babe,” my husband said, smacking at the midges assailing his arm, “those are cars.” 

What?! Seriously? 

I felt worse than ever. I determined someday, somehow, I’d make this up to him. 

Months later, I received an email newsletter from that refuge in Glencoe — the home of my two square feet. 

Their trail cameras caught a rare animal.  

The Haggis scotticus, according to the newsletter, is born with either shorter feet on the left (Haggis scotticus sinister mangus) or shorter feet on the right (Haggis scotticus manus dextra). 

This is because the Haggis scotticus lives in Glencoe’s mountains. The uneven legs, well — they make it easier to mate on the uneven mountainsides. 

Excited, I told my husband about the Haggis scotticus. He Googled it — we just had so many questions. Did the Haggis scotticus lend its name to haggis, the dish? Was it nocturnal? Carnivorous? 

“Babe,” my husband said, his brow furrowed, “are you sure about this? Everything here says it’s an old Scottish hoax.” 

Yeah.  

The newsletter was dated April first. 

Well, Ron Swanson had Tammy One and Tammy Two. Green Acres had Eva Gabor. 

Darling, I love you. 

But I think we’ll just have to stick with Park Avenue.