Subscribe by email to keep up to date with all of the latest posts

Follow by Email

Saturday, 27 August 2016

The pestilential pup

Myself, my bestest gal pal and her man, were sitting on the fabled paradisical white sandy beach of Koh Samui, Thailand.

However this was not the picture-postcard setting that we had anticipated on our sun-soaked boat ride over from the mainland, as the salty sea-breeze had lightly stirred through our hair, cooling our faces, whilst we hungrily devoured the surrounding scenery.

Our actual experience was more akin to an out of season trip to Grimsby, although perhaps somewhat warmer.

We hit up the beach as soon as we'd checked into our hostel, but now the sky was a blanket of grey cloud hanging oppressively low, the sea a reflection of the above. Grey. Grey. Grey. We shared a dishevelled sarong, far too small for three, watching the waves crash before us with heavy handed force.

As we sat here, sipping lukewarm beers, contemplating our next move, the dog arrived.

We were the only people on the beach, unsurprising considering the conditions, so this raggedy, bald-patched, frankly pestilential-looking pup made a beeline straight for us.

My bestest gal pal was terrified, she hates dogs, even clean, well-kept, pooches fresh from a visit to the vet.

'Don't look it in the eye, if you ignore it, it will go away' was her man's sage advice as the dog sauntered up. So this is what we did. With the dog all of a foot away from us, searching our faces, we strenuously avoided eye contact.

We looked up, we looked down, to the left, to the right, anywhere and everywhere except at the mutt. This lasted, honestly about 15 minutes, 'its not working' my pal trembled. Yet we continued. Feeling increasingly ridiculous as the time passed.

This dog remained, well dogged, in its persistence. Another 15 minutes passed.

In the end my pal's man shooed the dog away and it scarpered instantly, leaving us in the the blessed peace of our greyscale slice of paradise, after what was perhaps the most awkward half an hour of my life.