Beach Rescue

It’s called Dog Beach because the dogs own the beach. Maybe no one there will know your name, but they will know your dog’s name.

We’re taking our dogs to the beach this morning. They love it there. They get to run free, play with other dogs. It’s great for them.

But we do it for us, too.

We join the collective therapy session that is the Dog Beach. Everybody’s got their own special course of therapy. For us, it’s walking and talking, airing out whatever is on our minds, thinking out loud, doing our daily joint creativity stretches.

Other people are getting that elusive alone-time or together-time. Couples are taking advantage of the morning retreat from jobs, devices, and vices to spend time together where there’s nothing pulling them apart.

Who’s running this morning therapy walk-in clinic? The dogs. They are the reason for coming to the beach in the first place. The dogs need a walk at the beach, so we go along.

It’s not that the dogs don’t need their own brand of therapy. They are confined to houses and yards all day, on leashes for walks, and here they can gallop at full speed for absolutely no reason, or fetch a ball because it’s a ball after all.

Most dogs at the beach are rescues. Kiya is from Taiwan, Gonzo is from Mexico. Then there’s Billy, with three legs, running and chasing like he had at least six. Qinu has tennis ball obsession and she’s getting over a bad encounter with a bigger dog who lacked chill. Ava is working on overcoming her fears. Jasper can’t stop barking, but he’s really trying to work on it.

They know what they are doing. They run the show, and the humans know it. We all know who is making the good things happen here.

Gonzo patiently waits at the stairs for us to finish our therapy session. He’s off the clock. All the humans leave when the dogs are ready.

It’s a miracle of evolution. They make us grow, they give us peace and hope. They get us ready for another day.