I never wanted the dog. It was something for the children. He was an item that existed in my house rather than anything enjoyable. A small annoying puppy that turned into a muscly annoying dog.
The winter evenings closed off the sunshine, and that made everything worse. If the dog wandered off too far, he was nothing but a shadow on the damp beach, seconds from getting swept away. The sea was a huge crashing trap in the background.
I would have not cared if the darkness had swallowed him up. But the consequences at home would have been screaming, and crockery thrown at the wall. So instead we continue to plough across a damp desert, the sky changing from burnt orange to deep red.
But then it actually happened. The nightmare scenario. That damn dog scampered across the darkness, and would not return for any level of pleading or shouting. He remained a gloomy shape on the edge of the tide.
I had to move so close to the water that the foam brushed against my soles. My hiking shoes were low quality, a bad choice in both purchase and the walk.
And still that fucking dog did not move.
He pawed at some kind of lump in the sand. A mini dune no higher than a crash helmet, and the length of a park bench. His nose kept up a constant sniffing rotation that would not end.
This allowed me a chance of capture. Upon arrival my hiking boots brushed against the dune. The mound had a rubbery give, like some kind of fish.Strands on seaweed ran along the top, and a coke can decorated the side. A remarkable size for a denizens of the English Channel.
Then I saw the dark hair. The empty eyes still open. A mustache trimmed with sand.
My dog licked a pale ear. I thought of cold pasta, and looked across the beach for support. But all I saw is a shadow marching towards me.
Now he holds up a finger, like he is pointing to the sky, and then unfurls one more.
I try and give my dog a hug for support, but all he can focus on is his prize. He never was any use.
