It was not your normal looking dog. Short, stocky, and sporting a proud ruff around her neck. Her blacker-than-black coat sparkled in the morning sun. Her eyes were alert but seemed even more so because of those pointy ears sticking straight up. This dog seemed very aware of her surroundings.
She was sitting there panting and enjoying the pats while looking out at the waves. She's a tidy dog too! No drool or mess, even with that bright tongue always visible as part of that optimistic doggy smile. Smooth neat fur, not a hair out of place. Pretty cool dog. The kind of dog I'd like to take home.
We sat there looking down at the waves together. My fingers were massaging deep into fur that reminded me of a bear's coat. Joggers slogging by; this dog doing all the panting for them. Thick fur on a warm summer morning means a lot of panting. Imagine what this dog would sound like if she was doing anything physical. Pretty Cool Dog. She just watches the waves with me; and doesn't even turn her head for early morning birds or joggers. She's with me. She could be sitting anywhere along this long seaside sidewalk watching the waves but she's sitting her getting slow pats while I'm quickly becoming her “new best friend”.
I figure out why she seems so familiar to me. It's her teeth. Her teeth are little short stumpy things sort of like her boxy body. No long fangs on this sawed-off carnivore, nope, just short little nubs. I have the same kind of teeth; just like everyone on my Father's side of the family. My Grandfather, Uncles, and some of my cousins have had those same type of teeth. Luckily we all had long legs and relatively short snouts, but those pointy ears would have been handy for long range eavesdropping. This dog is just like family. I wonder if this dog's owners know that this dog has kin out there. We watch more waves.
I begin to wonder if maybe this dog strolls out here every morning. How many mornings does she find a “new best friend” to share the morning with. Suddenly, my fluffy pal pulls in her cute tongue, and stands up. The reason that I knew she was standing was because her back seemed to flatten out like a table and I noticed for the first time that she didn't have a tail. No tail at all, the poor thing. She did have little fender skirts on her hind legs though. I was amazed to see that her fur straightened out automatically, leaving absolutely no hint of the deep massage I had just given. She took a few steps forward to the front edge of the sidewalk where the beach rocks are and she picks up a gray 3 inch specimen and trots away with her head held high. I watched my little buddy move smoothly along carrying her rock. I guess she couldn't say good-bye with a mouthful like that.
I wasn't sure, but it looked like she stopped at the far end of the sidewalk to sniff something, only for a moment. She accidentally dropped her rock and I didn't see her pick it up again. She turned left and headed home.
I went to the library to find out what kind of dog this odd little sweety was. It was easy to figure out, her shape was unlike any other dog on the poster, she was a Schipperke, Flemish for “little captain”. Most people pronounce Schipperke as Skip-er-key, but Flemish folks pronounce it “sheep-er-ker”. As far as I know, I'm not Flemish, so I'll pronounce her name as “Foxy”. She has a cute foxy face, and no one will know anyway. It will be our little secret.
The next morning I got up early and sat at the same place and waited. After a little while I noticed that Foxy was just sitting next to me, just like the day before. No introductions, just two friends enjoying looking at the morning ocean. I patted her and had an enjoyable one way conversation with her about the name I had given her, about the weather, and about the meaning of life as it applied to me on this particular Wednesday.
After twenty minutes of visiting she got up, stepped forward, leaned waaaaay over the edge of the sidewalk and selected a stone from the breakwater that separated the beach from the sidewalk. With the rock in her mouth, she trotted away from me.
I had stood up and was deciding which direction I wanted to walk when I noticed that Foxy turned and dropped her rock at the far end of the sidewalk again. Maybe there is a rule about removing rocks from the beach. I headed off towards the lighthouse as Foxy headed towards the village.
I wanted to run down and meet Foxy the next day, but I had promised someone that I would meet him for breakfast. As my guest and I sat at a table on the sidewalk near the beach I was able to watch Foxy walk up and around the same path she had both days before, but this time there was no tourist to stop and pat her. Just joggers and fog. I was just sitting there watching her slowly trot along until my breakfast companion commented on “that odd little dog that looked like a pig”. Her profile did look like a cute little pig, which just endeared her to me a little more. I explained that I had met that dog and started to talk about her but my companion's eyes started to glaze over so I switched back to a non-dog conversation that would interest him. As he talked and talked about something, I was looking over his shoulder at Foxy as she trotted up and around the loop right past the place where we had sat the day before and kept going down the sidewalk until she got to the spot where she had dropped her rock the day before while sniffing something. She sat down. This time she didn't bend over to smell anything, she just seemed to be looking at something. She sat there for a very long time, her head tilted down enough that her ears were pointing horizontally towards the water. The little dog eventually stood up and leveled out again, continued on, turned left and was gone. After breakfast I went over to her spot and instead of finding a beach rose or some other sniffable object, there were several dozen rocks; all of them about 3 inches across but of no particular shape. Most of them were gray, as were almost all of the rocks on the beach. I looked at this pile of rocks for a while before I went back to the cottage.
The next morning I woke up a little late and had to hurry down to meet Foxy. “She has already gone around the top of the loop, I'd better hurry.” I came over the crest of the next small hill and slowed down. It was a clear warm morning on the beach and there were lots of walkers. My dog was sitting there and somebody was sitting next to her. Patting her. They were watching the waves. I sat on a park bench and watched them. They sat there together while I watched. Slow pats and dog pants. A long time.
I was getting ready to leave when my Foxy got up. I sat back on the bench as I saw her snoop around, find a rock and trot down the sidewalk away from today's friend with her prize in her mouth. When she got near the end of the sidewalk she didn't sit and think like she did yesterday, she just dropped her rock in her memory pile and kept trotting.
A smart dog looking very proud of herself.
ww, Short Sands, York Beach, First draft written 6/28/93 (1370 words)
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