The Dog Beach

As soon as we took the leashes off them, Sasha and Chandler sprinted out onto the beach like school children released for the summer. Sasha, barking madly and running towards the surf, while Chandler meandered back and forth, his tail wagging, aiming for the gigantic hole in the fence. Sasha loves to swim, and she hit the water like a practiced surfer while Mark struggled to get his shoes off. As I slowly tried to chase down Chandler, I could hear Mark’s panicked voice, “Oh my god, Sasha is going to drown.” 

Sasha was not going to drown. She swims better than Mark, and when I looked back she was about fifteen feet out into the water, still barking, and riding a little wave back towards shore. Meanwhile Chandler had breached the fence, and was sauntering down the non-dog beach headed south. I called out for him to come, but to no avail. It was as if he had gone deaf. Apparently the twelve weeks of training classes were for naught. All the sit, stay, and come commands might just as well been spoken in Russian. Luckily he found a life guard, and excitedly ran up to her like a long lost friend.

I thanked the life guard for holding Chandler, and dragged him back to the dog beach where Mark was still in a panic, and Sasha was still having a great time romping in the water.
“I can’t get her out.”, he squeaked.
“Sasha!”, I called, and the little dog we’ve had for less than a year came bounding out towards me, soaking wet and looking like a fat football on sticks.
“Well at least one of them listens to you.”, Mark sneered.

We gathered our dogs up, and started back towards the car. Chandler, all happy and stupid, totally at peace with his disobedience, and Sasha, covered in sand like a sugar coated donut.