Shifting Sands

Sand.  This beach is bound by sand.  Always shifting sand.  The wind and the ocean both constantly reshape the sand.  At low tide the ocean leaves wonderful dunes in its wake.  Never the same dunes, always different.  Some look like small island in an ocean of sand.  Others have perilous cliffs that must be scaled up and slid down. 

I like the feel of sand on my pads, most of the time.  Extremely hot sand, like I experienced once in Arizona, makes it hard for me to pant.  Ocean sand even if heated by the sun has this coolness that seeps from underneath the dry top layer.   Another reason I like sand:  I can dig to China!  And I can do it in a matter of minutes.  Sand moves easily with a thrust of a paw.  It sprays out behind me as I  dig for a clam or Ghost Shrimp, leaving small sand volcanoes it the wake.  Sand is soft to sleep in.  Sand is easy to jump and land in.  Sand adds extra fun to chasing sea palms, gulls, or flippys.  

Lots of interesting items are buried in the sand on this beach; cola and beer cans, remnants of fireworks, a broken kite, massive tree stumps washed up by waves and then engulfed by the sand, even evidence of other 4-leggeds.  I spend much time digging these items up for my beach collection; a collection that would be quite extensive if she didn't continue to relieve me of my treasures.  All of these treasures are safely hidden in a green chest at the end of the drive which itself is buried daily in shifting dunes.

Sand has a personality of its own on windy days.  I watch and then chase for fun the snake-like movements of shifting sand.  I know I can't catch it but it provides entertainment nonetheless.  I like the way sand swallows my paws as if trying to drag me under; as if I was swimming in the ocean. 

I like making trails in the new smooth sand at low tide.  It is as if I am on a deserted island; no other 4-leggeds or 2-leggeds exist.  I make tracks on the sand like a painter with a brush on new canvas.  Stark and seemingly indelibly etched into the surface of the earth.  Fleeting is my artistry; the ocean and the wind erase all traces of my passing.  Yet the sand beckons me to return another day.