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.

Ode to Sea Palms

On the Beach

Amazing things wash up on this beach!  

Today I spent most of the day following  up on those scents wafting through the windows.  First I spy a white object surging back and forth with the tide and run to grab it before the it slides back into the Ocean.  What a find!  A light shell with many legs--even more then me!  She says it is a crab that has long been picked over by Herrmann's and Western gulls or perhaps Black-crowned Night Herons who have callously left their prey adrift in the surf.  I leave this crab carcass behind and continue moving down the surfline, she following with a watchful eye, not trusting that I won't eat everything in sight.  I must pause here to dispel a fiction she and he perpetuate; contrary to 2-legged-lore, Labs are discriminating eaters!  To arrive at such pinnacles of taste, 4-leggeds must sample along the way, something 2-leggeds have yet to grasp.

Further down the coastline and higher on the sand dunes, she locates something buried in the sand and I quickly rush to sniff.  What is it?  She moves the sand gently back with her shoe but I can't wait and start digging it out.  Despite her attempts to slow me down, I rapidly uncover  what he says is part of a seal fin. Perhaps like those sunbathing on the point?  She stops me from bringing this find home and attempts to distract me with other finds in the area.  With a pull on my collar she has made it clear that this treasure won't be coming home with us today.  

Still, I know where it is and the days are long.

Anyways, as I continue my exploratory journey this day I rescue from the surf a brackish colored leafy plant on a long stem uprooted from the depths of the ocean.  Days later I learn that a common name for this is Sea Palm.  

I think it looks like a pom-pom-to-go.  I have much fun with this Sea Palm and prefer to retrieve it rather than a stick or a flippy while I'm on the beach.  2-leggeds have no idea how much fun these slippery trees are.  Best of all, no bark to choke on or get got in my teeth!  No splinters in my tongue.  Sea Palms are easily tossed into the air and shaken side-to-side with much affect.  Chasing her and him with a Sea Palm with the intent of slapping its wetness against their legs provides hours of entertainment for me.  She is not thrilled.  He keeps trying to throw it back into the sea.  It keeps coming back, whether I get it or not.

Oh! Columbia!

Our trusty Subaru steered a course northward to the Columbia River, a waterway that is both familiar and pleasurable to me.  It was in this very watery flow that I first learned to dog paddle--a skill I have since honed to a fine art.  My earliest puppyhood paddlin' memories are of sticks bobbing along the swells and ripples of this dark ribbon; of anxious calls from her as she ran along the bank following in my wake, of me feeling the real power of my sweeping tail as I ruddered around rocks and debris amazed by this near complete feeling of weightlessness.  

Exhilaration! So this is what a tail is for!  He and she are often overhead talking about the perils of this amazing limb--how in one sweep table tops, plants, and bookcases can be cleaned of dishes, dirt, and dust (occasionally small 2-leggeds get swept up in the cross fire).  I find my tail to be a useful tool to part not just water, but crowds with, to help me get where I'm going...which today is the central Oregon coast.  Swish.

I (and the 2-leggeds) follow this blue highway as it twists and turns with anticipation to the rugged shores of the Pacific.  Roll on mighty Columbia, roll on!  I have accepted your challenge and follow thee to distant shores.

Oregon, Hosts, & Ghosts

After a long drive with park-breaks along the way, he steered the Subaru into a little village in  northern Oregon called Union.  Quaint streets, modest main street, interesting smells all along the way.  Big shady trees with lots of cones that looked a lot like rats (although I've only heard this, never having seen a rat); "Yep, Douglas Firs" he says after her prompting.  On this hot day I pay more attention to the deep cool under its boughs and the thick earthy scents rising from the massive roots.  Lots of other 4-leggeds have visited this very spot and I take the time to follow up on them all.  As we head back to our overnight place, I pause at the grocery store to greet a fellow 4-legged who seemed a little long in the teeth but was good natured enough not to bark at my 2-leggeds, something I know they appreciate.  She always becomes very protective of me when any unknown 4-legged is around, maybe too protective, but I can live with this. 

We are staying at the historic Union Hotel built circa 1921, a find by her who spends much time surfing the internet to locate pet-friendly accommodations (an example of why I put up with her often obsessive, quirky behaviors).  Sitting three-stories high with architectural styles varying from Doric to Art Deco, this brick and stone lady oversaw the resort crowds in the first half of the 20th century when Union was an overnight stop for travelers heading to hot springs. Ginger, the resident 4-legged, welcomed us (she's a little shy but my playful nature won her over) into the grand lobby of tile, stained glass, and furniture infused with smells decades old.  Just the kind of furniture 4-leggeds long to investigate!  The 2-leggeds, Dave and Rob, have been fixing her up floor-by-floor with wonderful results.  As we cooled our pads on the long veranda as evening set, Dave regaled us with tales of Union, the hotel, his life before Union, and best of all, Ginger's rescue and the adoption of missing-limbed cats.  If you go there be wary of the 3rd floor ghost which can be spotted at any time day or night.  

Guess I should be tracking that ghost down....

well, maybe not just yet.