Boat Yard Dotty

Dad has a day off work in lieu of the weekend he just worked, so we get a nice long morning walk, taking in all the old favourite locations - the boatyard where the work's going on on the barge, and back through town and the Rec. At the boatyard we have a new, firm friend, boatyard dog Dotty. As we approach Dot's motor-home residence (where also lives Dad's mate Jan, a Swedish guy), we are let off the lead and race ahead round the craned out boats on their blocks, to be greeted by Dotty shouting from the top of the motorhome steps, wagging her tail in greeting.

She comes down the steps to greet us, and we all wander around peeing in the dust and kicking up the dirt behind us, making sure all of our scents out-scent every one else's. When we're all satisfied with that we can move on threading our way between the boats to check on progress of the painting of Cambria's leeboards, and seeing who's moored up in the creek.

Have a good weekend

Deefski

Trespassing

Dad is sure that today I was on a mission to cause mischief. To start off, I dived into a bramble thicket chasing rabbits down the Abbey Fields and would not come out. A man with a collie came out on his walk, the came back past on his way home, and we were still there. Dad's voice had started to go from the cool calm confident tone that says "Ah... she's only over there... if I whistle and clap twice (my signal) she'll come racing out" to a slightly more high pitched and anxious "Deeee-e-fer!".

The whistles were getting more frequent, longer and louder. But you see I was having sooooo much fun. Still I came out eventually and we carried on into the boatyard. They are an interesting of characters in the boat yard, not your run of the mill Town Residents. They live at various times on properly kitted out boats, or wrecks , portacabins, or in the case of a German couple of a certain age, in an old railway truck with no wheels on it, and those big heavy sliding doors on the side.

Outside the carriage they have laid out a nice little garden, with (in Summer) tomatoes growing up cane frames, pots of flowers and a couple of flower beds cut into the gravel and stone of the boatyard, then backfilled with top soil like a raised bed. Meggie and I generally pause at this point to sniff round the place, or thrust our noses through the narrow crack between the doors, and the couple happily greet us and make a fuss.

Today though, Dad realised with trepidation that the doors were well open, with an easy westie-sized gap between them, and that I was in there like Flynn. The people did not seem to be around. Suddenly there was cacophony - me barking and a cat streaking round the truck, zooming out, then back in again. Dad by this time is in hot pursuit of me and yelling.

I dive back into the truck. Dad calls - "Hello"... "Anybody there?". No answer, so he has no choice but to dive into the truck whereupon he finds me on a put-me-up bed in the left hand end of the truck, all the bedclothes thrown back as if someone has just got out of bed! He grabs me and retreats, horrified to have effectively been in the poor guy's actual bedroom - uninvited! The guy is not even about to apologise to. How embarrassing!

I am severely scolded and told that in future I am on the lead past the poor old couple's "house"

Well there was a cat in the bed Dad! It needed telling!

Deefer

Ten Feet Up

Nice trick this morning on the misty moisty dog walk. We went through the fields and came back through the boatyard, where at, several boats up on blocks while they are restored, repaired, painted etc. Some of these are long term projects and they set them up for the duration with makeshift rooves over them, walls round and flights of temporary steps to give access to the decks

One such big old yacht has a keel so tall Dad's head is always below the plimsoll line and the deck level is a full ten feet from the ground. So as we all walked along the creek bank wharf, Dad was a bit surprised when I suddenly shot off after (he knows now) the scraggy big boatyard tom-cat; a black and white, moth-eaten demon of a thing. He kept walking with Meg and the H, till he realised I wasn't among those present. They stopped, whistled, clapped, shouted etc, fully expecting me to emerge, panting from under a pile of rubbish, or a boat, or from behind a caravan with that "Nearly got him, Dad" grin. I did not reappear

Retracing their steps to see where I could have gone, Dad spotted me, ten feet up, looking down at him from the deck of the yacht, about 6 feet back from the prow, where-in sat the cat, glaring and singing "Come on then you tart! Come and have ago if you fink you're 'ard enough!". I couldn't see how to get down to Dad - he had to go all round to the back of the boat, encouraging me to go the same way, ten feet above, till I got to the top of the open flight of ricketty stairs and sussed it.

Happy to be re-united; was in a bit of a pickle there!

Have a good weeekend

Deefer