Just got back from the beach. Picked up three nice greenling, two females and a male. They're pretty fish. Google: Kelp Greenling.
Caught a little bullhead, and was not happy to find out I'd left my pliars at home. I was not happy digging the fishhook out of his mouth. It was too big a hook just to snip and leave in him, and I had to bloody up his mouth to get it out of him. And he had inch-long bone spines on his head I had to duck. Laid him carefully in the surf to give him time to recover with each receding wave. He swam off fine.
While pulling the hooks out of the big female greenling, jabbed myself twice but good with fishhooks (well, with my idiot double-rig, why not? It catches fish. It catches PEOPLE). Missed the pliars again.
Hadn't been paying attention to Rocko the big lab or Rebel the blue heeler. They were right up on my butt, as I bent over studiously wrapping a mess o' mussel booger around the hook rig.
Suddenly -- and I know it was Rebel -- somebody did a bite. And there I was, pinned down under a dog fight in the middle of my back, with hooks and mussel in my face.
Next thing I was on my feet, scared to death and madder than hell. I started fire-hosing handfuls of pebbles at those dogs, and chewing them out at the top of my lungs. They QUIT. Then I let go at full volumn. I flayed both dogs like a roaring bear with my tongue for about 8 minutes. We're talkin' Marine drill sergeant.
"You will NEVER fight on a human! You will NEVER do that again! I catch you coming near me when I'm fishing, and you're both going to be too sorry damn hounds! We're talkin' you two idiots will be happy if you have four legs and an eye left to walk on or SEE out of! You will never ever ever EVER fight near a HUMAN!!!!"
I mean, I laid law down like it was cobblestones. You probably heard it.
Rebel took off for home, and Rocko just looked like I'd beaten him. Which I might as well have done. He was one sorry make-up-to-mommy dog for the rest of the time he was on the beach. And it wasn't even his fault. I ended up throwing him cleaned mussel shells to keep him busy. He was so happy. Master was happy again! Dogs. It's all it takes.
Later sliced myself good with the fish knife. It was like a First Nations grandma reached out and gave me a good slice to say "No, bad child! That's not how you fillet a fish! It's sloppy and dangerous and wastes meat!"
Blood just everywhere. Fish and mine.
BUT will never forget to bring my pliars again. Or fillet fish THAT way.
We live and learn. You should see the nice clean pretty fillets.
Fish fry tonight!
And hopefully better-behaved dogs.