Blue saw a seashell on the seashore 28th October, 2015
My walks with Blue have been remarkably calm of late, apart from the golf ball incident and the erosion of the cliff down at Mairangi Bay which I did not write about for fear of civil action. In fact, I have rather smugly walked past less fortunate owners, silently tut-tutting as they extricate themselves from one tricky situation or another, turning my head rather elegantly as my collie walks oh so lead-free by my side. Look everybody, no hands. With every rise my friends, there is always a fall, and today we fell so very far.
Car-less of late, I have got into the habit of walking to the beach and then running home through Centennial, and Blue and I have assumed a rather pleasant routine, I have even trained him to sit at the road crossings and not lick small children in the face. It was with some confidence then that I let him off by the roadworks just before the beach. He waited appropriately for the command to go and ran off joyfully to the beach, as I walked to join him I saw a small group gathered around a new installation on the grass there in front of the surf club, I altered my direction slightly so I could join them. As they all lifted their heads to stare at me in unison I had that old familiar horror movie zoom in moment, but it was too late I was definitely walking in their direction and I was definitely the dog owner, exhibit one your honour, a dog lead. One of the small children broke rank, ‘look what your doggy done’.
Now I am not sure if it was the cool hard surface or combination of a very stimulating colour pallet or a social comment but Blue had managed to do the biggest and longest turd I have ever seen and with such agility that it was stuck about knee high on the surface of the seashell sculpture. As I was working out my next move a rather large walking party stopped to admire said installation. Smiling idiotically and mumbling inane comments about of all the places I managed to remove most of the offence with my poop bag and would have left it at that, truth be told, if it was not for the crowd. The walking party continued pursed lips and full of contempt and I thought it would be a good idea to try and wash it off. I now know that a thin bag of water and an onshore wind are not conducive to sculpture cleaning, so I made a last attempt with a fistful of grass and walked away hoping nature will do her thing.
Meanwhile, Blue feeling abandoned had taken up with a female runner who had had to run back from Murrays to bring him back and was rather cross because he had shaken out a mixture of sea, sand and saliva all over her new shoes.
I was lazily reflecting that I should go back to checking the beach before I released my dog on my jog home when I was brought back to the present by a high pitched cry. Runner, runner, runner, stop ladies runner. A rather smart lady held her hand up as I turned the corner and began my decent through some large shallow but narrow steps in the park. ‘Walking party, I am afraid there are 21 of us’ she explained, the bloody walking party from the beach. There then ensued a Cinema seat dance where I had to shuffle and squeeze my way through the old girls, excuse me, oops, sorry….. Blue, I assumed had gone on ahead via an alternate route which he had, but when he found I was not there, doubled back up through the ladies that were already perilously close to the edge as they were making room for me. Strike one lady with a stick, strike two lady in a backpack, strike three backpack lady’s friend, they went down like pins as he bowled his way through. Because of the general confusion and loud noises Blue got very excited and jumped and barked along with the rest. I cannot begin to explain the tangle that ensued. Half an hour later the ladies were back in line with no broken wrists thankfully, and I continued on my way with a sock full of numbers for cleaning bills having made a pledge to tend to the golf garden???? At some point as I disappeared through the ferns I heard, ‘wasn’t that the dog from the beach’ keep running Blue.