We planned it for several weeks, waiting for a nice, hot weekend with lotsa sunshine and on a day when the adult members of the fam could come and enjoy Bella’s inaugural romp in the surf and sand.
We arrived in lovely Del Mar just a little past noon with about three gazillion other people – who may not have all wanted to take their dogs to the beach, but they sure wanted the beach. And they wanted parking places. After doing the Desperate Search (and coming up with nothing but angst and neck pain) we made our way back to 11th Street, parked (finally) and began the long trek back to 29th Street on flip-flop.
So after all this mental and physical build up, the pressure was on. We arrived at Dog Beach, hot, breathless and sweaty, and beheld a bunch of canines jumping the surf, running in the sand, chasing Frisbees and small children. Bella took note of the abundance of other dogs, and then she looked down at the white foamed surf as it crawled toward her like a possessed Persian rug. She totally freaked. It took us several minutes to persuade her that the planet was not melting, the world was not shifting, the ground was not trying to swallow her whole.
She eventually relaxed, posing like a good dog for the first photo (which, contains – if you look real close – a man in white shorts running toward his dog who has friskily passed Bella in a dash of exuberance and salt spray and was now several yards away.)
Getting her into the van without taking half the beach with us was interesting. Hosing her at home was fun, too. The grains of sand kept falling off of her. Her fun meter definitely pegged that day. So did mine, actually. But hey! These pictures are great.
Next week we take our cat to Cat Beach.
That would be my joking voice . . .