|That is not our dog.|
Nice doggie, I say, hoping that it’s true. Then to the kid, let’s put Euka back in the car.
Just a precautionary measure. She seems docile enough though, this yellow dog. She greeted us by barking an alert while we’re outside the White Point Take Out awaiting on another awesome lunch by this humble little place. Our second visit to choose noshables at the take out on Cedar Island because once is not enough. We must have more of the local seafood goodness offered here.
But this is our first encounter with the big yellow lab, a gal who came over from a neighboring yard just to keep things honest. A salty sea dog, she is. No collar and, funny enough, no further interest in us once she planted herself by the take-out window.
This local eatery is no fast food joint, by the way. It’s the closest place to grab lunch within a fifteen mile radius on the island, but really we’d drive past any old Mickey Dee’s just to score more crab cakes. There’s a wait once the order is in, so most folk we see just hang in their trucks until the deep fryer gives up the goods. So we park ourselves and try to look less touristy by doing as the locals do.
Like the nice fisherman pictured here. When he left his truck to pick up his lunch at the window, there was no yellow dog on the deck. While his back was turned, the golden girl moseyed up the steps and planted herself in a position of self-entitled comfort. Fishermen can have some quick reactions, it turns out. He turns to rush back to his truck, deftly stepping over the dog with seasoned sea legs. It was like a ballet. Kind of. But still pretty darn impressive. A lesser person *cough* me *cough* would result in 1. a face plant, 2. a broken something that’s critical for gainful employment and 3. got free ride to the nearest medical facility.
|She’s between bath times, too. Once a year, whether she needs one or not.|
While on the subject of salty dogs, y’all may be relieved to know that Micron finally got his beach time as promised. Sure, it wasn’t really planned since we just intended to let him out for a potty break, but the big goober just tossed his furry self into the briny deep and then pranced about in spasms of joy. But once he was kinda wet, we figured that’s the same as full canine saturation.
Might as well just let him have his way with the water. The dog that we nearly have to use a spatula to get off the floor, has found his passion.
He’s like a flippin’ canine jet ski out there.
|Yep, that’s a rooster tail.|
|Rising from the sea like he’s Poseidon or something.|
Anyone with a golden retriever knows full well what a dog smile looks like. For the rest of you, here ya go.
|I ruvs you so much, Food Lady.|
He’s so ridiculously happy, it makes me feel bad about what’s coming next. But at the same time, why is salt water the best thing ever, yet fresh water from the hose is boiling acid from the depths of hell itself?
A complex combination of bribes and threats are the only thing keeping the big guy from bolting here. Lookit, I tested it myself. The water pressure is fine and the water is actually warmer than the fish pee water in the bay. It’s like he doesn’t want to smell clean or something. Huh. Dogs.
|It gets the hose again.*|
An album with more photos of the Three Dog Vacation adventures are on the Raising a Super Dog Facebook page. Feel free to drop a comment when you visit!
*The Silence of the Lambs (1991)