The fish buyer is quick with a smile and a joke as you throw him the bowline.
"You guys still on strike at the paper?
Who they got writing it now then?
Scabs I suppose.
Guiding your crates of lobsters into his small shed on the wharf, he recounts the phone call from the vet after taking his puppy in to get fixed.
"So we found your dog's uterus," the vet said.
"... and a scrotum."
A silence that the vet needed to fill.
"... your doverman's a hermaphrodite."
A few more moments of silence and then the fish buyer regains his Celtic composure.
"So am I going to have to pay you twice?"