Mackerel Sky

Dad gets off work nice and early today, so we have time for a nice walk along Reculver. It's been raining but now it's dry and a stiff South Westerly is starting to break up the lower level of grey clouds. Through gaps you can see the most gorgeous mackerel sky - all luminous peachy pinks and pale blues, lit from beneath by the low sun setting out of sight behind the lower clouds over Bishopstone.

We walk along with a King Charles Spaniel called Alfie (no relation to barge-dog Alfie) and a mongrelly brown lady called Ellie (no relation to my Sis'). A bit of Ridgeback in her, we think, going by the darker stripe of hair along her spine, but she's more of a collie sized girl, and as fast, we'd say.

The wind being in the SW is coming off the shore, off the oyster farm making us all streamlined when we are gazing inland. Dad smiles to note that when I jump up on the inland wall I keep my back feet on the proper walkway. Is that the wind, or am I remembering my dive over the precipice last time?

Up on the walkway / seawall, we keep coming across broken dead sea shells, we guess dropped by gulls who are breaking them open to get at the whelks and other molluscs, and leaving occasional smears of dead whelk on the concrete. We ladies have already rolled nicely in some decomposing bladder-wrack on the shingle, but now we can have a good neck-rub on these smears of smelly sea snail.

It's only we two ladies, Megan and I. We get right down, necks on the ground and bums in the air, then roll over and writhe about against the (invisible) smears to a band playing. Often we are like a formation team, synchronised diving and rolling. Haggis does not indulge - perhaps rotting whelk is not a manly scent for a dog. He stands bemused. He loves a roll on the Rec grass or in frost, but never has done this scenting thing with corpses, fox poo and other fragrances.

Mmmm... Essence de Dead Whelk!
Have a great weekend
Deefer