For a short while today we were dog people. Down on the beach, on the mudflats and by the old pier our guest's dogs ran and played on that rarest of things in a Scottish July; a sunny afternoon. The cats lay low for the afternoon and remained as bright eyes in the grass. Firstly we kept the work ethic alive by...working and doing a little shopping. Then it was prep time and then Pimms, Cava, prawns and bread and the buzzing of insects and the throb of a distant unfamiliar sun. We dodged the BBC and tennis and non verbal opinions and scooted out towards the sand and seaweed. The beach changes by the second, tides and pools swirling and losing themselves. Dirty weed, rotten wood and plastic rubbish, then the golden punctuations of fine sand and shiny stones, dog ready sticks and footprints, beautiful articles of warm landscape detail, hazy horizons and the imagined barking of seals and puppies. Looking back at how far you've come. Up on the lane wild roses, mint and brambles made fragile paths of scent and prickles. I sucked on grass lengths and tried to look lazy but intense enough to grasp and measure the tides and the church spires and chemical chimneys of the other side. I naturally failed (or failed naturally) but picked the best driftwood from a bad batch and prepared the well exercised bleaching process. By that time we were ready for a cuppa tea (once I'd respectfully moved the dead crow). Then the dogs ran home.
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