Beau and The Phantom Spaniel

Evesham Marina, River Avon

The days of climbing ladders to go to bed are over.....After what seems an age, (only 5 days actually), Dad's bottom is now apparently sufficiently coated in black paint that it will not rust or leak for the next 4 years.......
Personally, I can't see the difference, but Mum says that she can when she looks at it from a certain angle!!

With things getting back to what I call normal, I've had a lot more time to relax and become attuned to my surroundings.
It was whilst I was 'attuning' on my day-bed, that I first thought I saw the rear-end of a Springer Spaniel disappearing through a hole in the hedge, near the front of the boat.
I didn't see it again that day, and put it down to a trick of the light.
However, the next day, there was a distinct rustling in the bushes, and though I admit that I wasn't at the peak of my alertness, I would have sworn that I saw the shape of a Spaniel, silhouetted against the fence.....but again, it didn't reappear; although on my excursions later in the day, I definitely caught the unmistakeable whiff of Spaniel near to one of my p-mail sites.

Nothing happened for a couple of days after that, so I naturally assumed that I had been mistaken, which, I guess is why I let my guard drop just a little.......because the following day, I almost, definitely, possibly, might have seen the Spaniel shape once more, outlined against the fence,... but this time I was ready....

                         Off the boat......head down......tail up.......nose in search mode...............
There was definitely something there......in the hedge, moving steadily and with great purpose.

So, into the 'Collie-crouch', head down, bum up, cunningly concealed behind a blade of grass...the perfect ambush position!!

It's all about stealth, cunning, and great patience you know.... You don't learn it; the Border Collie is born with it...at one with Nature, and Master of the waiting game........so I waited, and I waited...................

Being a master of the stealthy ambush, I am also quick to realise that if the trap is not sprung after an hour, then something has gone wrong.
Was the blade of grass too small, did my ears give it away, was the smell of 'eau-de-fox' dabbed under the collar a bit too much ???

Either way, it was getting late, and the Inner Dog needed to be fed, so it was a somewhat sad return to the boat, but with the prospect of tucking into the remains of my chicken and biscuit breakfast to cheer me up.
...............Except that when I got there, not a scrap remained...........

The bowl?....licked clean and sparkling like new.
The plastic floor mat?...ditto. 
Under the kitchen units?...pristine...........

How he'd got from Stratford I don't know, but Harley had been....had hoovered up....and was gone.........

xx Beau

I was never there!!

The art of concealment!!