Seal of Approval
 
Far from the icy waves of the North Sea, nestled in the misty lochs of the Scottish Highlands, there lived a peculiar grey seal named Finn. Unlike his brethren who basked on coastal rocks and dove through saltwater, Finn had taken to the freshwater lochs of the Highlands, much to the bafflement of the local otters.
No one knew why Finn had ventured so far inland. Some said he'd been carried upriver by an unseasonal storm; others claimed he was simply curious. But Finn didn't care much for the stories. He loved the stillness of the lochs, the whisper of wind through the heather, and the way the Highland sun dappled the water's surface.
Finn quickly became a local legend. Shepherds would spot him lounging on a boulder, watching their flocks with an almost regal air. Children loved to paddle in the lochs, hoping for a glimpse of his sleek head popping out of the water, his bright eyes twinkling with mischief. And Finn, ever sociable, didn't shy away from attention. He'd bark cheerfully at passing hikers, sometimes even tossing a rock their way as if inviting a game.
But it was Finn's keen sense of judgment that earned him his title.
One autumn, the village of Strathmuir decided to host a grand festival to celebrate the harvest. There would be music, dancing, and—most importantly—a competition to determine the best whisky brewed in the Highlands. The contest was fierce, with rival distillers from neighboring glens bringing their finest barrels. The villagers couldn't decide who should judge the competition.
“Let Finn do it!” cried wee Hamish, a freckled boy who spent most of his days fishing by the loch.
The idea was so absurd that it quickly caught on. Why not let their beloved seal take part in the festivities?
On the day of the festival, the lochside was abuzz with excitement. Finn was coaxed onto the shore with promises of smoked fish and a special perch built just for him. The distillers lined up their bottles, their golden contents gleaming in the autumn sun. Each took turns pouring a dram into a shallow bowl in front of Finn.
The seal sniffed the first bowl, gave it a tentative taste, and immediately barked in disapproval, flipping the bowl over with his nose. The crowd roared with laughter. The second and third drams met the same fate. Finn had standards, it seemed.
But when the fourth bowl was placed in front of him, Finn paused. He sniffed deeply, his whiskers twitching. Then, with a gleeful bark, he slapped his flippers together and wiggled in delight. The crowd erupted in cheers.
From that day on, the winning whisky bore a special mark: a small engraving of a seal with the words “Seal of Approval.” Finn's endorsement became legendary, and distillers from across Scotland would journey to Strathmuir for the chance to win his favour.
As for Finn, he remained the beloved heart of the Highlands. Whether sunning himself by the loch or judging competitions (which now included shortbread and haggis), he brought joy wherever he went. And though he never returned to the sea, Finn never missed it. After all, he had found something far better - home.