I’ve spent a sultry July in the garden listening to bees and dreaming. What about writing? Well, there’s the rub. Still, it would have been daft to miss out on all that sunshine. On the last day of the month, I cycled to a cove on the tiny island of Gigha – God’s Isle they call it. As rain clouds rumbled in from the west I knew my ‘dog days’ were over.
By the shoreline a woman threw a luminous-yellow ball into the sea. Her young dog splashed through the water towards the bobbing ball, not quite sure what to do with it, when a skinny brown and white mongrel streaked across the sand, paddled out, snatched the ball, and paddled back. He settled down on a flat rock, his tongue lolling, and the ball at his feet.
‘Your dog just nicked my ball,’ the woman shouted at a group of men playing boules further along the beach.
‘It’s not our dog,’ one of them shouted back, ‘it’s the island’s dog.’
She shook her head but said nothing, marched up to the wee dog, grabbed the ball from between his paws and hurled it as far as she could out to sea. Her own dog stayed rooted on the sand making no effort to retrieve it. With a sharp whistle they returned to the warmth of their car. Again, the skinny mongrel swam out and returned with the ball. Shivering, he dropped it at the feet of a tourist who was taking snaps of the dazzling fusion of sky and mountain. The tourist stepped over the ball and walked on.
More than a dozen people sat overlooking the cove. A man rose from a bench leaving his wine glass to toss the ball. After five minutes he returned to his glass, and a young woman in a wet-suit hopped down from a rocky outcrop to take his place. The little dog leapt into the water like a flying fish, then scrambled back up the sand with his prize. The boules players abandoned their game. Conversation ceased. They watched in silence eagerly waiting for their turn to throw the ball. Sunlight stuttered through the clouds. Finally, a young boy broke free from his mum, and began flinging the ball across the grey water, squealing with joy.
‘He’s the island’s dog,’ he said to me, breathless, ‘I saw him yesterday too, on another beach.’
The sky darkened as rain swept in. The boy and the dog were crouched together on the sand, the boy's arm slung around the dog’s neck as he gently stroked its damp ears. I reached the top of the hill and looked back as the storm broke. They were still there, staring out to sea, a blond boy, a yellow ball, and a skinny brown and white dog - the island’s dog.