Late afternoon, bank holiday Monday.
We fancied a breath of sea air.
So off we toddled to the beach.
Along with about 2 million others.
Okay, that's an exaggeration but only a slight one.
Once out of the car, Boo did that incessant barking thing which seems to have become his way of objecting to wearing his lead and which we need to somehow address.
At this time of year, parts of the beach are prohibited to dogs so he protested loudly the whole length of the promenade.
'The day they make owning dogs illegal.......'.
I didn't hear the last bit.
Then came the best part for Boo.
Lots of running and ball catching and wave jumping.
Then came the worst part for me.
We were sauntering in the direction of the car park, back along the promenade, imagining the taste of the chips we were planning on treating ourselves to from the restaurant hatch along the way, hoping the queue had shortened.
By this time, the crowds were thinning somewhat and a much calmer Boo was behaving himself off the lead when, all of sudden, with no warning whatsoever, now, how can I put this....
...there was the most spectacular expulsion from his rear end you ever did see.
Like, whoa!
So I did what anyone in that situation would do.
I pretended I wasn't with the very tall man and his incredible exploding dog.
And I never did get those chips.
Which wasn't so bad as, for some reason, I'd completely lost my appetite.
I love bank holidays, me.