Later on I take the dog to St Anne’s because she hasn’t had a good run for a couple of days and it’s stopped raining. There’s a fruit and veg stall set up there on a Friday, and Lola takes a bit too much interest in it - she’s not above stealing a carrot and I don’t want her weeing on anything.
And I don’t know what else I said, but a woman took the time to ask me
Are you speaking to your dog in English?
I say yes, momentarily confused
I wonder what language she thinks I should be speaking to Lola in. I know that what she means is there’s no point in talking to a dog in sentences, but I disagree quite strongly. Just because dogs don’t talk the same way we do doesn’t mean they don’t get the vibe or even the gist of what we’re saying, and I know that my old dog, Poppet had quite a large vocabulary. She understood lots of stand alone words including ones that are quite abstract like friend.
I met a bloke one time on a dog walk who told me about his deaf Rottie. He said that before he went deaf he taught him sign language so he could still call him in the park, and so on. I do some sign language with Lola and she understands it fine. Dogs understand more than you think. Their lives are spent studying us.
This morning is dry. I need a bath but I want to get the dog walk done first so I put on yesterday’s clothes without washing. The dog wanted to go to Palmeira and Adelaide and I fell into conversation with a man who lives on Palmeira. He told me how bad the drainage is and how precarious the gardens are, bolstered as they are by a wall, which could easily be undermined. He’d lived here for years and knew a lot about the gardens. One thing that I like about them is that the people who live there do quite a bit to look after them. I don’t think that they should have to, though certainly the council services are cut to the bone, but just that between the gardening and the dogs there’s a strong community there. I’d like to live on Adelaide, ideally. Not that there’s anything wrong with where I am.
I’ve run my bath and am lying on the bed typing this and Lola’s big lunk of a head is lying on my left arm. She’s obviously sated, which is good.
Are you going to Adelaide tomorrow?
I ask Frankie. The bloke I met earlier told me there was going to be a dog show there. I wouldn’t have been able to bring Lola last year, she’d have been aggy with the other dogs, but now I think she’d like it.
I write the bit above just before Frankie arrives with her dog Kip, and then later ask her if she wants to hear some more of what I’ve been writing, and that bit is at the end, which delights her. I did it on purpose.
Sunday is sunny. Lola needs an early outing, so midday is too late for a first walk. My foot’s still sore. I think it might be a bunion after all. So I decide to drive to the beach again because I can write there and Lola will entertain herself. I take the turning for Lex’s because even though I’m not starving I want the sausage roll and a coffee.
She says the sausage roll will have to be cold because she’s only just turned the grill on. I make a disappointed noise and she suggests the microwave.
Just for a little minute, to take the edge off?
I wolf the roll and decide the cafe has too many temptations and hazards for Lola so I take my coffee onto the beach and sit down on one of the wave like mounds of pebbles.
For some reason it’s ravens or crows who dominate the cafes here - not sure which? They’re quite big. The gulls don’t get a look in. I noticed the other day in the rain that they hang out at Rockwater too. I don’t hate gulls but I actively like corvids. I had a magpie visitor when I had a bird cafe on my window ledge in Bethnal Green.
It’s not comfy sitting on pebbles so I take my jacket off to sit on. I’m only wearing a vest underneath. Although the sun is hot there’s a cool breeze which feels nice on my arms. I put my beanie on so I can stay warm.
Lola suddenly kisses me fervently so I can only assume she’s having a good time.
On the way here the roads were pretty empty but someone decided to drive right up my arse.
Enjoy your speeding ticket ya drongo!
I think. This must have been because of listening to Helen Garner. She doesn’t use that word though. It’s surfaced in my brain after decades of dormancy. I picked it up from watching Neighbours int the 80s.
Despite the cold I roll over onto my front to keep writing and my legs are pitted with cold. Lola’s beside me chewing a feather. The tide is out again and cronching lazily.
My view now is over dunes of pebbles - a row of beach huts and the hedge behind them, and the roof of Lex’s and a handful of banners advertising beer, coke, Smarites ice cream and the like.
Lola watched a family with a toddler. She likes small children.
I ask her, and she snaps out of her fugue.
