Sunday, 13 September 2015

The Old Man As A Dog...

Today we have walked about on Long Rock beach... which is full of activity. People jog, run and cycle along the path and the air above the waves be full of surfing kites and waves be covered in  kite-surfers and wind-surfers. The tide is out, the sand is firm and so above all the place is full of dogs... running, ball-catching, meeting each other, trotting, jumping the waves... it looks like Lowry on sea out there.
So of course I ogle dogs. Part of me is a frustrated dog owner but the other part is the irresponsible flibbertigibbet that can fantasize about owning one... without taking the little critter for a walk or in any way looking after it. My latest passion has been a French Bull dog... and these must be "the thing" cos I saw two more on the beach today.

But it is all academic cos The Old Man be not keen. And the reason is, I do believe, that he be a dog himself. All the signs are there. The rushing to the door when someone knocks... followed by frequent growling and snapping if it is a stranger... and possibly over enthusiastic greeting if it be friend. Frequent requests for walks and an overwhelming interest in food do complete the picture... and the rushing out into the garden when he do spot a cat. So you see... there can be no competition indoors.

We come home. I bake a cake. And we indulge in an Incredible String Band fest.
Old curmudgeons... we try to make life sweeter.

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