This is Pebbles.
The last time we went to Cornwall, she was barely more than a puppy.*
This time around, she was 16. Her back legs are a bit wobbly, and the deaf/blind combo she's rocking has led to an endearing habit of bashing her nose gently against your knee every few minutes, just to check you're where she thinks you should be.
But she made it back to south Cornwall, even if she left the longer walks to younger dogs.
We stayed in a super cute cottage on the main street in Polruan, and we spent our days going on those long walks, eating way too much and exploring some old haunts, and our evenings drinking Cornish cider and playing rummy and board games.
Lack of internet access meant the longest enforced period away from work emails and work stress I've had in a looong time. I finished three books, took a nap pretty much every afternoon - basically it was a perfect break.
Wouldn't you want to hang out here for a while?
* Fun fact: On that last trip, I took Pebbles for a walk along the cliff path, and she disappeared. I freaked out, thinking she'd fallen over the edge. Eventually she came back, dragging something behind her. On closer inspection, it turned out to be a half-defrosted oven-ready chicken she must have stolen from someone's house. I had to throw the carcass over the cliffs to dispose of the evidence.... My innocent-looking dog is a reformed career criminal.
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