Summer’s profusion hit the crookedshore today when the sun beat down like a hammer from a clear blue sky. Cottonbud clouds tethered over the Antrim hills on the other side of the Lough never threatened, except to cast their reflection across the still water whose surface was periodically disturbed by the stately movement of sail boats.
Along the narrow path the brambles and hawthorn reached affectionately towards one another until the way ahead was pinched for walkers.
The mud pool at which Tobey always makes a stop is now dried and cracked, so he desperately hunts, nose to the ground, for somewhere to cool off. Pawing at the deep water he seeks a foothold to ease himself into the sea from the high rocks but, failing, launches himself in pursuit of a serene threesome of ducks.
Later as we head up the beach, away from the water and towards home, he rolls ecstatically in the sand and carrys handfuls of it to the car.