Men's business

What an adventure I've had! Just Milou's dad and me, out and about doing men's business.

She had meetings so delivered me to Milou's dad in the morning and off she went. Great! Milou's dad spoils me. I like that. So I sat on his feet while he was washing the dishes to let him know that I approve.

He misses Milou since he died and I know I remind him of Milou.

Then into his little doggie car. Just the right size for a wee lad. It's called a Smart Fortwo. I sit in the front on a seat that Milou used which is high enough for my head to look out the window. And off we go. The window open, the wind in my face. It feels so good. I like cars.

So even when we stop and he disappears inside for a while, I don't mind. I watch everything. That's how I am the most intelligent dog in the world.

Then we are on the road again, until we drive into a place with lots of clinging-clanging going on. There are tall skinny stalks all lined up. Rows and rows of them. And the birds squawking. And the smells. Oh, gosh. So many smells. Salty and watery and like engines and fishes. It is a yacht club, Milou's dad explains.

Milou's dad talks to me as we walk, teaching me new words. There is a boat not in the water. It's hanging in mid-air and there are three men underneath. They are cleaning the hull. There's a new word for me. A hull is a tummy.

Oh, this is such fun. They stop lying on their backs and come and pat me and laugh and I like them.

Off we trot again, this time we are walking down a skinny path. It's called a walkway and sticks out over the water and the clinging noises and tall stalks are either side. Boats. The stalks are masts. The boats are happy. They bounce on the water and talk to each other. Cling. Cling. Clinnnng. Cliiiing.

I am liking this I want to run but I am on my lead and can't.

Up ahead there is a black thing on the walkway. It looks like a black pooh. But it smells very fishy and it has a hard shell and a goozy inside. "It's a mussel," Milou's dad tells me, "The birds pick them off the pylons and drop them on the walkway." And I can see pylons sticking up with black mussels on them.

It's too good to resist. I sniff and lick and rub my face in it. This is good. I roll on the mussel because I've never met a dead mussel before.

And Milou's dad pulls me away and we keep walking until he says, "This is my boat. Its name is Thumper." And I want to play with Thumper but we have to go. "Next time," he says.

I have never done any of this with her. This is secret men's business. I say nothing when I get home. I am pooped and want to sleep and dream about boats and hulls and mussels and fishy smells.