There were times this winter when it seemed impossible to imagine walking dogs on the beach in anything less than full foul weather gear. That moment when you pull the car up near the pebbles and brace yourself for the strong gust tearing at the door as you open it gingerly, and leaning into and pushing against the wind, with hood drawn tight and layered up to the point when moving is slow and ponderous- with the certainty that if you fell, you would roll around like a Michelin man rather than leaping back up again.
So how lovely to have a moment last week when we wondered whether we really needed jumpers on over the short sleeved shirts or not. ….. we erred on the side of caution and popped a wincheater on which we could always tie round our waists if we had been unduly pessimistic in our decision making.
The sheer delight of the arrival moment, cresting the dunes from the car park to see the tide out and a long low stretch of sand leading us to the shallows with lightly curling gentle waves….ahhhhh
Dogs in full cry – WHOOSH – off the leads and tearing across the sand to the water, gambolling around in the waves – leaping and bounding – glorious.. and only slightly marred by the frantic challenge on the way back to stop them gobbling down the dead starfish on the tideline
Musings of a middle aged dog walker 