I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

One of the interesting parts of this trip to Cornwall has been discovering that the fat rat is obsessed by the sea. On Friday morning, I was dragged from my comfy bed at The Scarlet for a wonderful 6am walk along the shoreline at Mawgan Porth beach. Today she has had a triple whammy of Watergate Bay’s glorious stretch of sand first thing, Greenaway Beach & its splendid rock pools after lunch, and Portloe Harbour this evening. (We are staying at The Lugger tonight & tomorrow.)

She nearly gave me a heart attack earlier this evening at Portloe by slipping her lead and rushing at full pelt down the slipway straight into the harbour, where an incoming wave crashed over her. Visions of the dog being swept off to sea crowded in as I ran shouting after her, skidding across the concrete in my ballet shoes. The bloody dog of course just stood there with no thought to its incipient drowning, totally ignoring me. I managed to grab her by her collar as the wave receded and words were spoken.

She has clearly been reading John Masefield’s “Sea-Fever”:

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

By John Masefield (1878-1967).
(English Poet Laureate, 1930-1967.)

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«The fat rat», ahahah

She looks like lovely company, even if she does drag you out of bed!


awww this post brings back sweet memories of the time when me and my beloved Hazel used to go to seaside <3


The bassets have a similar disdain for their own mortality at the hands of the shifting tides. They miss you.


Looks fabulous, lucky you to be spending a long weekend by the sea. And I really love that poem, had to learn it off by heart when i was a schoolgirll and have just finished a painting based on it…


Lovely post . All dogs seem to go loopy on beaches , even my old Lurcher reverts to her puppy madness – digging her way to Australia again . The Whippety- cross youngster is obsessed with finding just the right piece of seaweed , before tearing round in ever increasing circles shaking it , then eating it . Great fun .


Watergate Bay is just the best dog beach – Harry Pointer had a whale of a time down there, chasing the seagulls and hairing up and down.


sooo cute

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