An e-mail from 'the brother-in-law' who is on holiday in Norway:
"Hi Hi, just letting you know how the whittlings going. It's day two and unfortuately mark 2. The mark 1 whittle came to a grizzly end, but it almost definitely saved my life! There I was happily whittling away in the sun when a pack of 'wild' dogs rushed me, I hear you guys may have encountered the very same beasts? Anyway the big one, I guess the leader of the pack "bbrrrum bbbrrum", was heading straight my way. I had to think fast. In one hand I had the knife I could try and take him out, the rest of the pack may then back off, but then again they might not. They were smaller than the leader, Jack Russells or Terriers or something, but never the less, fierce. The shear number of them, possibly 3 or 4, made this a risky choice. In my other hand I had my wood, not my dick!, but a perfect piece of timber for whittling a spoon. This left me with one other option, sacrifice the whittling wood. I know a hard choice to make. I only had seconds to react. I chose the latter course of action, hoping that if I threw the wood the big one would chase after it, giving me a little more time to regroup and come up with a plan should the dog return, which in my experience of throwing sticks to dogs is usually the case. It worked, the dog turned and ran, so did some of the smaller ones. The rest of the dogs, well one or two, surrounded me and made a fuss, but with the big one distracted I could try and make friends. Just then a call and a whistle came from the distance and the pack disappeared, but alas so had my whittling wood. As I said before I have started work on the mark 2, but the wood is nowhere near the quality of the mark 1. However this has made me more determined than ever to whittle the best spoon I could possibly whittle, in homage to the mark 1 who was so bravely, or maybe rashly, sacrificed for another. R.I.P mark 1. We salute you."