My heart is already breaking up when the dog comes racing towards me like she always does , her face full of joy and life . She runs parallel to the shore where the waves crash . Its five degrees , the sun weak and distant and I have two thoughts in my head as she flies towards me . But she is a rescue racing greyhound and she reaches me before they are formed and she crashes my arm and bites me . One of the thoughts was this , she is not going to swerve at the last minute to avoid hitting me as she usually does . Too late to take evasive action . I shout in pain and shock as her teeth sink through the thick fleece , she is semi playful and tries to bite again and I shout again warning her off .
I roll back my fleece and stare at my lower arm . There is nothing , then a reddening and a faint line which I suspect will turn to bruise later . Her leaping and bounding has stopped and she has calmed, in touch with my mood . The words rise from my heart and into my head ; my heart is breaking and now even you have hurt me . It is early morning , the beach is deserted and I sink to my heels and show her the bite mark : Look Alice , you have bitten me and now my heart will break . She stares at me and tries to lick my tears and they flow and I walk with her to the rocks where we can sit unnoticed and watch the waves and I can cry and try to decide what to do with my breaking heart .
I do not want a random passer by to ask me what is wrong with me .
In truth I could not begin to explain in a way that would make sense .

Two days ago , I saw a dog on the beach digging a hole , all alone . As I rounded the corner I realised a man was sitting half hidden on the rocks , smoking and looking  half out to sea half up at the rock face . He stayed there the time I walked the length of the beach .
That afternoon , I returned to the beach , wondering if I would find the dog still lying in his dug out , guarding a pile of clothes , the man gone into the sea . It was that kind of day . That kind of  feeling . Instead , there was a rollup end , and a little pile of shells laid out in a pattern .

I wondered where he went , the man in his black and red gore tex , the golden retriver digging and digging . Where he went in his head , in his life . His shells are still there , today , and his rocks and cliff face , and today , this time , disturbed by a man running by ,  I stood up and went back to my life , walked further round the headland , exchanged greetings with fellow walkers and dog people like nothing was going on , like my heart was still in one piece .