Evening Tides: Sunset Walks with My Dogs on Ireland's Green Shores
There's something almost sacred and magical about those summer evenings along Ireland's windswept coast. The world transforms into a canvas of warm hues - lavender and peach bleeding across the horizon as the day's light begins its gentle descent behind distant headlands. The beach stretches before us, kissed by the day's final glow, with only gentle waves marking the shoreline.
My companions on these sunset adventures are always the same: my gentle Bernese Mountain Dog with his striking black, white and tan coat now bathed in golden light, and his smaller companion, a curious Shiba Inu whose alert eyes miss nothing. Their excitement is palpable as we crest the dune grasses, the expansive beach revealing itself like a promise of adventure.
The Cuhurly thrower has become an extension of my arm - essential to our evening ritual - that distinctive green launcher that sends Cuballs soaring across the sand. There's a simple joy in watching my Bernese track the yellow arc against the amber sky, his powerful body tensed with anticipation before bounding across the beach with surprising grace for his size, while the Shiba watches with characteristic independence, sometimes joining the chase, sometimes content to observe.
My evening playlist has become the soundtrack to these moments - atmospheric tracks that complement rather than compete with the natural symphony of waves and distant seabirds. Songs like Ólafur Arnalds' "Particles", Villagers' "Nothing Arrived" or Ye Vagabonds' "The Foggy Dew" feel particularly fitting against the backdrop of Ireland's wild Atlantic coastline. Sometimes Lisa Hannigan's "Undertow" ethereal vocals accompany our footprints in the sand, a musical connection to the very land we traverse.
These walks have become more than exercise - they're a ritual of connection. While technology dominates so much of our days, these sunset hours offer something increasingly rare: presence. No screens, no notifications, just the tactile experience of sand beneath boots, the weight of the Cuhurly launcher in hand, and the visible joy of dogs experiencing the world through scent and sound.
Later, when we've returned home and paws have been wiped clean of sand, I often take a few moments to record these outings in my journal. Not just the facts of where we walked or how far, but the less tangible details - the way the fading light painted shadows across the dunes, how my Bernese's eyes sparkled with joy when returning with the Cuball, the particular quality of light that only seems to exist on Irish beaches during those golden hour moments as day surrenders to evening.
These summer sunsets feel suspended outside of ordinary time. In my journal, I try to capture how the landscape itself seems alive with memory - these same shores witnessed by countless generations before us. The dogs don't contemplate such things, of course. Their joy is gloriously present-tense, a reminder that sometimes the purest happiness comes from simply being exactly where you are, with exactly who you're with.
In years to come, when I flip through these journal pages, I know it won't just be the words that transport me back, but the phantom sensations - the cool evening air, the weight of sand in my shoes, and that distinct feeling of connection that comes from sharing quiet adventures with loyal companions against the backdrop of Ireland's breathtaking coastal beauty as the sun bids farewell to another day.
