Having a go

I came very close to blipping a photo of a nasty man who kicked our dog (and then offered to kick Richard) this evening. I'm still tempted to display it somewhere.

Tess was really lovely and patient and said she didn't want any Easter eggs until this evening when Daddy and Gemma and Joel came home, so that everyone could have an Easter egg hunt together.
That all went well and I managed to not burn the dinner and eventually found my lens cap in the garden in the rain and we decided to leave the 7-year-old in the care of 2 teenagers and a mountain of chocolate so that we could take Dylan for a bounce on the beach.
So off we set.

Only we seemed to have gone to the wrong beach...

As we left the path to drop down onto the beach there were fag-ends and empty beer cans in the dunes, the first thing we passed on the beach was a discarded disposable barbecue and the remnants of a fire. To whoever left that barbecue: I hope you got food poisoning. You deserve it after leaving a hulking great piece of aluminium on the beach. Tossers.

We then walked along the shoreline watching a man and his young daughter having fun trying to surf (if that was you - I have photos if you want them!), chatted to other dog owners and apologised repeatedly for Dylan's cheeky ball-stealing. There was a general happy, fun feel. It's lovely to watch people who are learning to surf lying on their boards and whooping as they catch their first wave. All around there was an 'I'm on holiday and I'm bloomin' well going to go surfing whether it's any good or not and whether I'm any good or not' feeling. They were all just having a go and I felt quite soppy.
Until...

I was vaguely aware that Richard had got talking to another dog-owner behind me. It happens a lot so I thought nothing of it. I watched from a distance as the dogs ran around and went for the same stick and then I decided I'd taken enough photos and headed towards them, away from the sea.
Richard's naturally friendly. He talks to a lot of people. Dylan-the-dog is naturally friendly too. Everyone is like his long-lost best friend. We never have to worry that he might hurt someone. In fact we chose him especially because his breed is laid-back, good with children and good with other animals - dogs included.
But then, in a split second, the stick was significantly important to both dogs and neither wanted to give it up. The other dog bared his teeth and went for Dylan's throat. Dylan loves playfights and for a few seconds was ready for a bit of rough and tumble but soon realised he was having to defend himself. I froze. Richard froze. The other dog owner was upon them instantly and, strangely, grabbing at Dylan - trying to tear him away. Dylan is heavy so he went for his own dog - which I could see now was a Staffordshire bull terrier - and lifted it into the air.
I wasn't happy that the man's first thought was to drag our dog off his dog as if our dog was the problem but I felt, Phew. Probem solved.
But no. The other dog owner decided that this would be a good time to stick his foot into our dog's side with a hefty kick.

Why?

It all happened so very quickly that I was still standing staring but Richard called over, 'Don't kick my dog.'
To which the other dog owner yelled back, 'I'll stick my boot up your arse next!'

Hey?

The body language looked so confrontational that I called out, 'Just leave it. It's no one's fault. Just leave it.' (But not before I'd taken a couple of photos of the man who'd just kicked our dog and threatened to kick my husband.)
I didn't really think it was no one's fault. I knew exactly whose fault it was but I wasn't about to upset a dangerous man with a potentially dangerous dog. It was almost as if he expected trouble.

He saw me, stared as if noticing me for the first time, and turned to continue his walk and we walked the other way.

A young couple nearby saw and heard everything that happened and I felt that - even without words - we were vindicated

I shook for about an hour after that. What an arse.

Of course now I wonder why he has chosen to have that breed of dog. Or any dog. I pity anyone whose reaction is to stick their boot in. But I pity anyone or anything that has to live with him even more.

An hour, a glass of wine and several flashbacks later I found out that I had won a copy of Vanessa Gebbie's The Coward's Tale. I'll come back and stick a link in when I've had another slug of (medicinal) wine.

The photo? Some planty thing washed up on the beach. (I didn't have waterproof footwear, so couldn't get very close) I loved the way the roots looked like they were dancing and when they joined up with their reflection they made a heart shape. Thank you, good things and good people. May your run-ins with tossers be few.