Like the seagulls collect at the beachlet at Doolin Harbour, so the crows spread across the stone heaps that boarder on the tourist territory. But this is no more than a fake dispersal. As soon as I throw a cookie on the stones they fly in from near and far. To prevent that one flies off with the whole cookie I crumb it first. Then for a moment the sky darkens from the birds and when the lucky ones with the larger pieces have left to gobble up their snack in relative quietude, the less fortunately go in search of the crumbs. And in this they are as adroit as they are thorough.
Each day anew I found my fingernails soiled underneath as if in mourning. Not withstanding the rigourous cleaning I subjected them to each time. So naturally I sought to find the cause. But it did not figure. No activity nor object touching ever so faintly qualified as an explanation.
Until one day I was in the water and up turns Dusty for a cuddle and a stroke. Like we always do, like a pet signature, I let my fingers gently glide from her head along her dorsal fin and on her peduncle let it slide over to her other side, thereby adding a little bit of nail as a love bite. And that does it. Dolphins shed their skin continuously, so what collected under my fingernails was dust, holy dust from Her Silvership's very own skin.