RA Jones

She’s a brown bitch, he’s a black dog.

Enough said.

The beach. 09/12/2012

Black: Ah, smell that sea air. Where are you going?

Brown: To the beach.

Black: Wait a minute. I have to drop the kids off at the pool.

Brown: Do it on the beach. They can cover it with sand then.

Black: When will you ever learn? You have to do it on the path in front of all the walkers so that they have to pick it up in a  teeny plastic bag.

Brown: But…

Black: No buts. It’s worth it just to see the look on their faces when they have to handle still warm soft-serve. Sometimes I wish I had a camera, I really do.

Brown: But you can’t use a camera.

Black: Shut up. See those seagulls over there?

Brown: The ones way over in the distance?

Black: That’s them. Now let’s see you do a Fenton.

Brown: I love Fenton.

Black: Right after 3. One, two, three.  Fenton!…Just look at her go. Works every time. Now, is that an old ham sandwich crust I can smell in the undergrowth?