Back to the subject of the island’s numerous domestic canines and it would seem that Mr Hook’s ongoing love affair with Isla Grande’s pups is not entirely unrequited. Certainly our fisherman’s dog, Bobby, looked decidedly pleased to see him as he boarded the little blue fishing vessel we’d hired for the day. Bobby wasted no time in giving Alan’s tender areas an exploratory nuzzle and was clearly impressed by what he encountered, reaching an advanced state of sexual arousal in what can only be described as indecently short time.
Our American friend Chris took this in with the sad and knowing look of a parent who has just caught their son masturbating in the airing cupboard.
“Oh Bobby” he said softly, with a slow shake of his head.
Fortunately for Alan, Bobby’s attention span was shorter than his sex drive was strong and he became distracted by an empty water bottle that was skittering across the floor of the boat.
Canine relations aside, the expedition wasn’t an unqualified success but we did managed to land a few fish and spent a pleasant afternoon lolling about in the warm and gentle waters of southern Brazil. Our boat was a battered old blue fishing vessel. Worn down by years of use, and desperately in need of refitting and a service, it was exactly what we were after. That our fishing rods were made of fishing line wrapped around plastic coke bottles added even more to the experience.
Our sleepy eyed captain also introduced us to the concept of smart bombing, a practice which involves strapping on a snorkel mask, stripping down to your Speedos, grabbing a line and swimming it over to where the unsuspecting fish are peacefully going about there fishy day. Perhaps I’m overly indoctrinated into the ethos of fair play but it all seemed jolly unsporting. Though not unsporting enough to throw any of the fish back.
That is all,
Dale Atkinson
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