Brunswick County- A View from the Bridge
Those of us who love the beach may find it hard to understand that some don't
share our enthusiasm. A few days after Christmas I had to say goodbye to my beloved
dog ‘Wolfie", a Shetland sheepdog & Labrador mixed breed . He had very long hair and
looked more like a border collie than his parentage would suggest. I'd brought him to
the coast with me for years, and he loved walking on the beach and exploring in the sand.
Possibly because the family dog from my childhood had thoroughly enjoyed playing and
swimming in the ocean, I thought Wolfie would too. I couldn't imagine a dog not loving
it.
On our beach walks we liked to watch people having fun in the ocean with their dogs.
Every time I tried to guide Wolfie in that direction though, he'd take all the room the
leash allowed to run back toward the dunes. Like any good dog, he wanted to obey and
please his master, and he usually did, but no amount of encouragement or even my
commands would get him near the water. I gave up the first day but later decided to try
again. This went on for weeks with no success. As summer went on I finally realized it
was a lost cause and I would just have to live with the embarrassment of having the only
dog on the beach who was afraid of the ocean.
A day came when we were alone on the beach, and I wondered if he'd be more willing to
try it without an ‘audience'. He was downright stubborn about it, refusing to cooperate at
all. Unfortunately I lost patience with him and fussed at him for being such a ‘chicken'.
Dogs know a tone of voice regardless of what's being said, and Wolfie had no doubt that
he might not get his usual portion of hushpuppies that night.
Whether it was due to the ‘hushpuppy threat ‘or to a desire to obey and please,
only he knew, but he went with me into the water! I gave him big wet hugs and promised
a bonus serving of husbpuppies, believing we had made a true beach breakthrough! Just
at that moment a wave broke on him and my spirits sank like stone in the ocean. He
came up like some sea god rising from the deep, but he looked that way only to me. In
reality he was more like a soaked mass of tangled, matted long dog hair. After much
sneezing & snorting of salt water he made a mad dash for the sand and began to roll in it.
What a mess! I didn't care though. I was just proud of him for facing his fear.
A long time would pass before I realized how unfair I had been to my dear friend. When
he refused to go near the water again after his " ocean baptism", it finally dawned on me
that he had sense enough to know his breeding. I should have known that a dog whose
maternal ancestors came from the ‘highlands' would never be a beach bum. I'm not
proud of my failure to consider his heritage, but I'm very proud of a dog who gave new
meaning to the term ‘personal best'.
