Stepping back onto the soft sand Joe felt something wrap around his leg. Something warm and soft and ... furry?
He looked down as a writhing, panting mass of dampness rubbed against his ankles. 'Careful of our little friend', he warned Jill, watching that she wouldn't get entangled in the exuberant canine's antics. Her hand was safely enclosed in his.
Satisfied she'd landed safely he bent down to rub the wiry fur. He was thanked by a lick across his exposed wrist and his face lit up in a happy smile.
'Sorry, sorry, I should have had him on a lead I suppose, seeing as it's yourselves', a voice called. 'Will I get shot at if I come over to say hello?' it asked.
Joe looked up from his position crouched down petting the slightly damp dog. Jill's hand was resting lightly on his back as she prepared to squat down too. 'Not at all, come on over', he called, looking towards the agents just to be sure, knowing that neither the man nor his dog would have been able to get this close without the guys deeming neither to be a risk.
The man's scarf blew across his shoulder, exposing his white collar on the black shirt. Joe put out his hand to shake, 'I'm Joe, this is my wife, Jill, and you're Fr. ...?' he asked.
'Moriarty, but if you're not using your titles then I'm certainly not using mine. My name is Stephen, and this little fella is Ghost', he says, indicating the dog, his other hand firmly encased in Joe's strong grip.
'That's quite a grip you've got there, Mr. President', he said.
'I thought we weren't using titles?' Joe challenged with eyes twinkling. The priest grinned, quite obviously delighted at being on first name terms with the president.
The little dog barked, catching their attention. They watched as he crouched low, his belly almost touching the wet sand he growled at a piece of seaweed that tumbled across the beach. In an instant he pounced and landed squarely on the offending article, then began to chew happily, holding the strand down beneath his paws. The three of them laughed at his antics.
'Where does his name come from?' Joe asked intrigued. Ideas about funerals and folk tales had filled his mind.
'He's called after the Holy Spirit. You know, the Holy Ghost as it was back in my day, and yours probably, Joe', he said and the president's hearty laugh boomed along the shoreline, echoing from cliff face to cliff face.
'He's a great little companion and a wonderful watchdog. He'd smell trouble a mile away, and as you can see he's a good hunter', Stephen says, extolling Ghost's virtues. 'But he's as lazy as anything when he feels like it and he'd lick the face off you given half a chance. We love walking. We come to the beach every day and your security people were kind enough to let us come down here. I didn't realize ye were nearby, I probably wouldn't have come if I'd have known', he admitted.
He paused and smiled thoughtfully.
'And then I would have missed out on meeting you both. The Lord certainly works in mysterious ways', he mused. 'I thought I was doing great seeing you on the stage in Ballina. I never really thought I'd get to shake the president's hand, or the first lady's mam', he says looking towards Jill.
In spite of his joviality he was quite obviously starstruck.
Jill smiled at the priest as Joe reached out and rested his hand on his shoulder. 'It's our pleasure to meet you properly. And thanks for standing through the event, and for the support, I really mean it. To know someone from here was at the speech is very special to me', he said, his blue eyes serious.
Beside him Jill smiled. She knew how deeply he appreciated the welcome all week, especially at the event in Ballina. Slipping her hand inside his jacket she gently stroked his back.
