Beach Buoy and Another Dog walked to the beach.
The Golfer weather vane at the top of the club's flagpole was aiming south west, into the breeze.
The Bus Station Clock reckoned that it was 8-45.
It was 4-08 p.m.
They headed to the promenade stairs, north of the access ramp.
A lady came up the staircase with a wonderful dog. It looked like a large puppet or possibly a small pantomime dog if there was such a thing.
If there isn't, there should be.
That dog would be it.
They climbed down the vacated staircase onto the beach below.
A blowy breeze blew.
They headed south.
The tide was well in, it was a narrow beach this afternoon.
There were encounters with other dogs and owners.
The tide must have turned over an hour before, fresh shingle patches were becoming exposed.
Pebbles with legs ran in and out with the edge of the sea.
Beach Buoy and Another Dog headed to Stubborn Dog Stack.
He patted
THE
stone.
"Afternoon Mate."
He added five more beach stones.
He went and sat on a large stack stone, watching the sea.
"See you mate."
Time to go.
They headed back on sea smoothed sand.
Their prints the first.
As the dawdled along, Beach Buoy glanced back.
His prints were those of a drunken man.
Determined looking Pebbles with legs marched towards a receding wave as if about to have an argument.
The wave returned with it's bigger brother.
Off the little bird ran.
They headed back.
The golfing wether vane was still hitting to the south west.
As they left the dunes and the golf club behind, the Bay's Wind Turbines all ran to be in front of Stubborn Dog Stack
That's how it seemed every time.
They would scamper back to Redcar upon their return.
BEACH BUOY.
