Chihuahuas in Charmouth


AS I type, they squirm on my lap, a couple of tufty, snuffling creatures with limpid eyes and outsize ears.

I’m dog-sitting two chihuahuas. As I’ve never been to Charmouth beach, we all went to see the sun set last night. A pair of boats are perched high on the shingle.


The sea’s heaved rubble right up to the beach cafe’s welcome mat. The sun’s glowing celestial pink, drawing out the rest of the sky in a haze of navy, lemon, indigo.


Lowry-like stick figures perambulate into the sunset. Behind us, the prehistoric cliffs rear green and brown to the east and the west. Serried ranks of beach huts seem Colosseum-coloured in the fading light.



Children pan for finds in rockpools.



The sea slinks away. The sun sinks lower. Turning pewter, sodden sand reflects the glorious hues back at me.



Stan and Ollie won’t go in the water, but they’re having a whale of a time trotting and sniffing around boulders. A drenched spaniel, hair matted like a mythical sea monster, moseys up to say hello.

And then it’s time to say goodbye – we’re all a little bit wet and cold! Can’t wait to come back here in the summer.


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