Waking up to the sunshine flowing through my open window, I know the day will be the same as the one before; after all, it is Southern California. Washing my face and pulling on a swimsuit, I finished my ensemble with a beach bag filled with a towel, dog bowl, water bottle, an apple, tennis balls, and a Traveler magazine. The contents speak to my destination: Dog Beach.
Izzi, my fifty-pound blue heeler- Australian shepherd mix, pulls me up Ocean Blvd, over the stairs, and through the parking lot in three minutes flat (think of a sled dog pulling a water skier). I try to convey my sincere apology to the cars Izzi continues to ignore as she pulls me towards the sand with all her might. Once her paws hit the sand, the game was over; she had won this round of tug of war. I get her to sit long enough to unleash her while there are no bikers within ten feet so she can cross the bike path safely (for her, but mostly the bikers). She barrels towards the waves. A few minutes later, I reached the coned area where we were supposed to unleash. I find Izzi chest-deep in the water, chasing the splashes of a three-year-old girl in a blue and white swimsuit. I set up my towel and Izzi's water bowl and let the sun soak in.
I sit up, hearing something happening at the water's edge. I pull my hand out from under my wet hair; my fingernails are sand-filled. Covered in the scent of a wet dog, I push myself up from the warmth of my towel and step into the breeze coming off the hazy blue water of Long Beach Bay. People are grabbing boogie boards and rushing into the water to get close to a pod of approaching dolphins. They had gone uncensored until they were fifteen feet from the shoreline. Seven deep, gray fins rise and fall out of the waves while the dogs bark. A few brave dogs paddle out with their owners to see the new beach residents up close. One man, returning to the squealing crowd on the beach, shouts, “I touched one!”
I make the short distance from my familiar nomadic home consisting of a towel, dog bowl, extra tennis balls, and geography articles to the group of "dog beaches" I’ve come to know as friends over the last few months. Everyone is ecstatic to see the dolphins back. A fisherman once told me dolphins used to be a common presence in the Long Beach waters, yet the last ten years have been barren, absent of all signs of the graceful creatures. The fishermen, like the "dog beachers," have been bragging and spreading the word of the multiple dolphin sightings this summer in front of Granada Beach. After thirty minutes of interacting with the dolphins, they start to leave. The dolphins either grew tired of the constant flashing of cameras, reaches of hopeful swimmers, and buggy boarders, or the fish had moved on.
The crowd and I slowly retract back to our towels. We sink back into our chairs, or even better, let the sand curve to our bodies, and everyone eases back down. I close my eyes to take in the moment.
Of course, there are the "not so glamorous" moments at Dog Beach. Everyone at one time or another witnesses, experiences, or shamefully has to claim their dog’s bad behavior. Unexpectedly, being trampled by a herd of bulldogs, having your PB&J snatched away by a Saint Bernard, or suddenly feeling a warm spot form on the back of your chair as a suspicious wiener dog trots away looking distinguished is bound to happen to you at some point when you claim a patch of sand at the dog beach.
No comments:
Post a Comment