Rhossili Bay

Well, this looks promising, I decided taking a gander at Rhossili Bay from the cliff top.  Once again, Auntie Gill insisted on the lead during the walk down. She is impatient when we want to rootle and tugs us, usually at the most interesting sniff. However, feeling somewhat reassured about beach prospects, we cooperated with her.  I quelled my frustration and did an unasked for 'good boy' sit to keep her sweet.  The nearer we came to the beach, the air became increasingly scent free.

'Smell the air boys!'  Auntie Gill was off again.  I paid no attention this time, it was as bland as yesterday's and boring.  I had also been bored on the walk down, when Auntie Gill had spotted some hairy lichen and gave us a lecture on how it only grows in clean air.  Humans seem to think that air with no smell is clean.  They like it.  To us, air without smells is about as interesting as a song on one note.

If you flattened my scenting sensor area, it is 60 inches square.  Humans have a puny one square inch.  The research says that their sense of smell is better than the puny area would suggest.  This is because they have a BIG brain.  I beg to differ with the research,  Their sense of smell is crap, (in spite of the BIG brain).  In any case, their noses are too short and not at all wet, except when they have a cold, when their noses leak profusely and turn red.  Then they complain that they can't smell at all.  To be honest, given their smell is so feeble, I'm surprised they even realise its gone.

Anyway, I did like the look of the vastness of the beach. Right now, I was itching to run more than I needed to sniff.  The beach felt squidgey-gritty between the toes.  'I'm not letting you off the lead until we're a long way from the cliffs,' announced Auntie Gill. After hours, she found a spot she liked and uttered the magic words, 'Off you go!'  Bliss!  She insisted on taking us down to the sea.  Why would she think we would like it?  We are beagles, not seals!

It took an hour to walk the length of the beach.  We did a bit of rootling, but the sea smell is not appetising and tastes gritty.  There was nothing to chase except for a few gulls and they were no fun, compared to rabbits. My friend Alyssia (stunning black pointer) would have loved it though.

Rootling

We only met one other dog: a stuck up Jack Russell called Frank. He had a perfect stick, which he wouldn't share.  He ignored our friendly overtures, stuck his nose in the air and kept his gnashers clamped on the stick.  I don't see how you can have fun like that.  Perhaps it was more of a fashion statement, 'I've got a stunning stick, so' ... Don't mess with me?  Admire me?

The next best thing about the beach were the sand dunes at the end, which held notes of rabbit, but Auntie Gill became hysterical when she couldn't see us and we didn't get far.  She snared us with treats and marched us back to the sea.  The rest of the walk was war.  We would run to the cliffs, wait for her to become hysterical, rush back for treats and then head cliff-wards again.  It was good fun. Auntie Gill was exhausted, but she has only herself to blame.  She should have just let us climb the cliffs.