I went to the beach today with my son and his two friends. The weather was absolutely stupendous, sun shining, seventy degrees, and a light ocean breeze all accommodating my pastel body in mid March.
I love the beach, I love everything about the beach; the sand that is buried in a stick aftermath from the winter storms, the returning seagulls waiting patiently atop rolled up awnings of closed shops, and the variety of people covering the a Tri- state area coveting the not quite ready for flip flops board walk. The beaches on the East coast differ from the West in that they close up in October and re-open Memorial weekend, yet in Los Angeles, where we migrated from, you can hit the beach all year round.
I don’t care if the beach is in Timbuktu’, when I plop my chair into the sand facing the water and plug my Ipod into my over wrought ears, I know I have reached heaven. Laying in the sun on a shore is the best therapy that should be prescribed by over paid Doctors.
As I basked in the Pre Spring sunshine listening to my chosen Itunes, it suddenly dawned on me what I truly want in life. A beach house. I want to wake up with the sound of the morning tide hitting the shoreline. I want to retire for the night with the sound of the waves echoing against each other. I envisioned the house and the beach where I would be spending the rest of my life and amongst all the beauteous seascapes and sunsets what stuck out most in my daydreaming was my dog Charly. I could see him in the distance romping in the sand and chasing birds away from my opened Cheetos bag and lightly barking as the tide ebbed and flowed. I sat there on the sand with Michael Buble crooning “Summer Breeze” only to me and my eyes closing to the satisfaction of the day…….
….Only to be brought back to reality by a semi chewed soccer ball landing on my lap spraying sand into my face. My son and his teen friends were engaged in a World Cup of their own and neglected to notice my seat of serenity and decided to use me as a goalie. Shortly after that awakening, a herd of strollers equipped with dune buggy wheels marked their trail next to me and families flocked in more than the seagulls. I watched as people darted about in the sand toting toddlers with an assortment of plastic play toys. I watched couples and singles walking their dogs along the water front. I watched all these people with dogs pass each other and the dogs would wag their tail and stop to say hello to their fellow canine friends. I watched and wondered if my puppy would ever be able to be in a public place displaying this incredibly polite doggie behavior that these pooches were exhibiting. I must have watched these dogs for over an hour in wonderment and praying that one day this would be Charly and me; strolling down the beach encountering other tail-waggers and Charly-dog would just smile and sniff a behind or two and carry-on in search of drift wood. That would be a dream come true.
As it stand now it is just a dream because my dog still barks wildly at any passing dog, runs and chases cars down the street, and does not come when I call. So I can imagine my puppy on his leash at the shore running up to every sun bather and staring them right in the face and barking his bobble head off until the Bay Watch people come to strap a muzzle onto his snout and ask me to vacate.
No, I think if Charly-dog and I are to retire to a beach environment it will have to be an unchartered uninhabited island deep in the South Pacific where his yelp will not be heard around the world. Right now I am still dealing with a dog that barks at a tall tree in the yard or an upright vacuum standing in the corner of a closet. He barks at a pillow propped on the couch or a jacket slung over the back of a kitchen chair. He barks if he hears the jingle of another mutts collar two miles down the road. He barks if a commercial for Pedigree treats comes on the T.V. ….No my beach house will have to be out of ear range, I’d pick the Alps but the barks would just intensify with the echos creating more barks and me having to offer Charly a Ricola.
There’s gotta be a right tree for Charly to bark up………I’m thinking a nice large Palm in the Sahara…
spread the humor.