The French Lieutenant's dog

Backblipping Sunday, my birthday,, another day of perfect sunshine. We paid a visit our old special beach some way along the coast and walked down to the sea past the cottage (see extra) where we spent holidays before we moved to Pembrokeshire.  The bay is so familiar yet always startling in its purity: nothing but sea and stream and pebbles and rocks.

On the edge of the surf a scrawny sheepdog stood alone, staring out to sea, restless and uneasy, as if waiting for its owner to re-appear from the waves. It barely responded to our overtures and didn't want to engage with us or to play. What should we do? Son Gwyn was concerned and tried to gain its attention - then he found on its collar a disc giving its name as Storm and another that said 'Leave at the beach, will find own way home'. We did and returned to ours.

Second extra; a grey wagtail among the rocks.

Title from John Fowles' novel/film of that name featuring a woman who haunts the jetty at Lyme Regis, waiting for her lover to return from across the sea.