Sequoia Coast I may be shy but don't underestimate me

the komondor hummed as he stood, sea water up to his ankles, but waves often rolling past. he was remembering the words of the oldest songs he knew, rewriting parts of those he didn't. he liked to think the fish enjoyed it.

but no no, he knew how his unique brand of fishing worked. fish were drawn to the float of his tassels. would come near to inspect the odd, pale algae, sometimes nibble and occasionally tug. when one positioned itself in a good way, his head would spear the water and, if luck were on his side, he'd feel fresh seafood trashing in his mouth.

just like now!

there was first a splash when he dove in and a greater one when his head and neck, so very soaked and heavy, rose up, tilapia wriggling in his jaws.

he looked up, water still sloshing from his dreads, and winked at the sky.

"много хвала, дамо срећо." spoken trough a mouthful of fish.