NC500 - Day 2
Updated: Jun 1, 2018
Buxton to Robin Hood's Bay (131 Miles)
Last time Mummy took me away in a mobile kitchen with an en-suite, the sun shone nearly every day but this time we were woken by the rain. Big rain. Big loud drops of water pellets banging down on the tin can we are travelling in. I don't mind rain but Mummy looked a bit deflated when she saw it. With a mug of coffee (and her wellies on), she sat and pondered how she was going to get Bertie the Bandit off the grassy lake that had appeared overnight. My job was to watch her ponder ... I knew something important was formulating in her mind because I got loads of chin tickles. If I let her do this (and give her my puppy eyes at the same time) she usually conjures up a master plan ... well, in her world anyway.
After a run around the doggy field, a growl and a bark at the black and white beast that lurks at the end of the field waiting for little dogs like me to devour, we both agreed that we needed to find the beach. Mummy had promised, and I had packed my beach bag full of snacks, balls, water and poop bags. I'd even put an apple in it for Mummy as she seems to like them when we go away. I don't know why as they normally go all squidgy in the bowl when we are at home. Bertie the Beast wasn't as keen to leave the field as we were though and seemed to get rather angry that we'd asked him to move. Maybe he was tired - I know I was - but he needed to get with the adventure and stop spinning his wheels petulantly! Mummy refused to let him get his own way, despite all his bucking backwards and forwards, and although he spat a mouthful of mud up his sides and started to smell a little of burning, Mummy tamed bucking Bertie and showed him what for. I fell in love with Mummy (again) and gave her my 'love' smile.
With mud graffiti all over Bertie, we zoomed down the lanes with the radio on, knowing we had control of our own destination ... we even sang together, our own little song of happiness as the grey road whizzed beneath Bertie's wheels. We were so happy that when we saw a sign for Castle Howard, despite it not having any sand, we veered off route with adventurous hearts and found ourselves trundling down the majestic driveway of a beautiful stately home.
Castle Howard is where I was destined to live. It has amazing grounds that if it were mine, I could run around off lead. I imagine there are servants in there too; I only have one, Mummy, but I'm sure I was born to have more. Even though I wasn't allowed into the house itself, we spent hours wandering around dreaming of what could be ours one day ... if Mummy ever writes that book she's been threatening us all with.
I'm sure we saw princes and princesses curtain twitching as we sat and ate cake in the courtyard. Mummy drank more Dandelion and Burdock but was restrained from burping bubbles in public; I was ever so relieved, especially as I knew I was related to these people, even if they didn't.
We left our stately home (and our regal relatives), and continued in our quest to find Robin Hood's Bay. We'd heard that there was a pirate colony there - smugglers and harlets - and knew that I would sniff them out while Mummy documented the evidence. The Bay needed a Little Rea intervention, and I needed to see the sand, and the sea. When you live in London, with all its beautiful lights and vitality, you still need to run to the ends of the land to breath a different kind of air ... to smell things beyond fox and goose poo. We skidded into our new patch almost sideways, and ran away from Bertie, down through the forests, through the cow fields (cows so close I could see their eyes) and down cobbled lanes into a pirate village so blatant that we both stopped on its edge and silently glanced at each other. We knew that the moment our paws and feet stepped over the boundary, we were going to be zapped back in time, where shops still sold sticks of rock, candy floss, buckets, spades and pirate treasures. Hesitant, we made the jump together and entered a world far far away from London.
With our heads down so we didn't get noticed, we headed to the beach, only it wasn't there. IT WASN'T THERE! The sea had eaten it all up and we stood where it had once been, deflated and sad. One hundred and thirty one miles across moors, down country lanes that made Mummy's knuckles turn white, and round corners where Bertie the Bandit nearly tipped over ... and the beach wasn't there. I slumped down on the cobbled slope and looked up at Mummy.
She next to me and put her arm around my little shoulders, telling me that we succeeded because we had tried, and tomorrow was another day. Apparently the sea can't eat the beach all day every day and if we timed it right, we would see it soon. Feeling despondent, we trekked our way back through the cow poo mayhem and back up to Bertie.
Worn out with the anticipation, I collapsed at a strangers feet and let her rub my tummy for hours and hours while she and Mummy chatted about me ... all me ... and nothing but me. I may not have seen the beach but apparently it really was there and Mummy wasn't telling little fibs to me. Tomorrow is a new adventure and if I don't bottom scoot this evening on Mummy's white bed linen, I think she will try again tomorrow to keep her promise.