Great day. Sun, sea, paddles and a picnic taken in the shadow of the old coastguard cottages.
A bimble down to the beach and we were all in a stupor of pleasure at the newly arrived summer.
Dog Woman approaches the beach. Sign says this stretch of beach is family friendly and the National Distrust politely and inoffensively requests that you do not take your dogs on it.
Dog Woman ignores sign. A muffled, collective, gasp of outrage and incredulity from those families assembled on the beach. Of course no one does anything! I raise myself from under my hat and pound after Dog Woman. If she had been a 300lb Biker with a Rottweiler I might not have done so. I hesitantly and politely cleared my throat and said firmly, 10 times, excuse me. Dog Woman looked at me eventually as if I was something delivered to the bottom of her shoe by said dog and proclaimed she was hard of hearing. I then pointed out the sign and alerted her to its contents. There was an explosive and abusive comment about the National Distrust. She also added that she could not see and had great difficulty with reading. At this point I had made my point and returned to the fold feeling like a Bateman Cartoon: the man who challenged Dog Woman.
There then ensued a period where she darted about the beach seeking support for her and condemnation for me. Everyone true to form mumbled and hummed. Her dog, a real comic of a mini poodle, had the last laugh. It went up to the post on which the notice was firmly planted and crapped at its base! This caused huge hilarity in our camp. Madam, your dog is a surrealist critic!
Obviously my assertiveness and apparel suggested I was Ranger Bob for the National Distrust.
She accosted me and asked for my name, rank and number, as well as what authority I had to challenge her. I replied that I was for my sins a member. Surely she could see the brown shirt and the insignia of the Dog Police on my hat!
We later saw her on the beach at a point above the Dog Patrol, transgressing Dog Ordinances with abandon.
Cups of tea and ice cream along the coast led to decision to enjoy an alfresco supper of fish and chips by the Harbour. Our little circle of 3 generations were tucking in. Who should appear in a car, apparently untroubled by failing sight, Dog Woman.
She was about to make herself at home, plonking down in one of our chairs and no doubt harranguing us about this that and the next damn thing. Too much; maybe it was chance, maybe she was a sad, batty old dear who loved her little poodle more than anything in the world. Some very firm, assertive, but civil words were said to encourage her to take herself off. She did.
You couldn't make it up!
A bimble down to the beach and we were all in a stupor of pleasure at the newly arrived summer.
Dog Woman approaches the beach. Sign says this stretch of beach is family friendly and the National Distrust politely and inoffensively requests that you do not take your dogs on it.
Dog Woman ignores sign. A muffled, collective, gasp of outrage and incredulity from those families assembled on the beach. Of course no one does anything! I raise myself from under my hat and pound after Dog Woman. If she had been a 300lb Biker with a Rottweiler I might not have done so. I hesitantly and politely cleared my throat and said firmly, 10 times, excuse me. Dog Woman looked at me eventually as if I was something delivered to the bottom of her shoe by said dog and proclaimed she was hard of hearing. I then pointed out the sign and alerted her to its contents. There was an explosive and abusive comment about the National Distrust. She also added that she could not see and had great difficulty with reading. At this point I had made my point and returned to the fold feeling like a Bateman Cartoon: the man who challenged Dog Woman.
There then ensued a period where she darted about the beach seeking support for her and condemnation for me. Everyone true to form mumbled and hummed. Her dog, a real comic of a mini poodle, had the last laugh. It went up to the post on which the notice was firmly planted and crapped at its base! This caused huge hilarity in our camp. Madam, your dog is a surrealist critic!
Obviously my assertiveness and apparel suggested I was Ranger Bob for the National Distrust.
She accosted me and asked for my name, rank and number, as well as what authority I had to challenge her. I replied that I was for my sins a member. Surely she could see the brown shirt and the insignia of the Dog Police on my hat!
We later saw her on the beach at a point above the Dog Patrol, transgressing Dog Ordinances with abandon.
Cups of tea and ice cream along the coast led to decision to enjoy an alfresco supper of fish and chips by the Harbour. Our little circle of 3 generations were tucking in. Who should appear in a car, apparently untroubled by failing sight, Dog Woman.
She was about to make herself at home, plonking down in one of our chairs and no doubt harranguing us about this that and the next damn thing. Too much; maybe it was chance, maybe she was a sad, batty old dear who loved her little poodle more than anything in the world. Some very firm, assertive, but civil words were said to encourage her to take herself off. She did.
You couldn't make it up!
