Dogs, every feckin where 

Hundreds of the little bleeders

Pissing and shitting

To the rustling of small black bags

As manky tennis balls whistle past

And a occasional spaniel stops briefly

To sniff your bits

The hum of a cheap drone

The every now and then jogger and friend

The crashing of the Atlantic soaking  children

Too close to the shore

Being told they are too close by their yelling parents 

In hindsight

While their dogs lollop towards the dunes