Based on the prompt below over at WordBohemia.co,uk.
Can’t understand why we can’t just go. I know he’s not as fast as the younger ones, the ones that come every so often, they rub my ears and cuddle me and Master tells them they’re making too much fuss.
He’s been down here for ages just sitting with the other old ones. They’re not even making any sense. Not talking the way the Mistress and her friends do. They talk for ages, each of them, with cups of tea, and they slip me a biscuit under the table now and again. They laugh lots, the Mistress and her friends.
The Master and his friends just sit there. One says something like, “Not what it used to be, the harbour,” and the others nod.
“Sure, the EU have the whole thing ruined,” another opines.
They all nod again and fall into silence. “Ruined,” another will say, “Remember how it used to be?” the third will ask, and they all nod.
“Great days,” my Master says, and that seems to put paid to the conversation completely.
I’m mad to get into the sea again. I love the sea. I love the water and the salt and the weird things in the rock pools. I decide to shake myself, loud as I can. I let out a bark. A gentle hint I’m still here.
“Better go lads, get the mutt home,” my Master says.