Evalation

  

She pauses for me at the bottom of the beach stairs, sitting patiently, waiting for me to come and throw the Frisbee with her.  We start slow as the morning fog burns off, tossing it lazily in the deep sand, getting our sea legs.  She chases it accurately and jumps high at the last minute to intercept it at its apex, styling in the air and glancing for approval and adulation on the way down.  

As we warm up we toss it longer, farther, faster.   The deep sand makes her tired but she does not care.  Almost daily someone walks by and says something like, "that dog has skills."  Indeed.

Then we move towards the water, dipping our toes at first in the shore break and then going deeper into the surf until we are diving into the waves for the catch and the landing, until we are completely submerged and acclimated to the cold water.  Now it is easy to dive into the surf and swim out to the breakers, catching incrementally larger waves from the various starting zones, until we are up to our necks and facing a wall of water every 11 seconds.  I might put on a wet-suit or grab a boogie board for extended action, but not necessarily, that stuff sometimes gets in the way.

She is always effortlessly ready, always prepared, always perfectly naturally equipped for she is a little, one-year-old cattle dog named Eva, in the prime of her physicality and peak of her short life.  Thirty one pounds of Frisbee catching machine.  She is a mountain snow-dog but has discovered the beach and after two week she owns it.  Besides Frisbee she will sniff every passing dog - assessing asses and attitude for fighting or frolic, greet every passerby with a wet nose to the calf, chase the birds – always unsuccessfully , dig holes – always aimlessly, walk on your blanket and shake near you while you nap. 

She wakes me each day at first light, to feed her and let her out, but what she really wants is to go to the beach.   She waits while I go thru my morning routine but if I hesitate or take too long, she is insistent.  If I leave her to go do some other human activity maintenance chore, she is mortified and will sulk the day away until we can play. 

This is her life now, in the little no-name surf town on the Central Coast of California that she has adopted as her own. Before and after I go golfing, ride bikes or motorcycles, go wine tasting or out for food and entertainment, she takes me for a walk.  Supposedly non-self-aware she does know that the world revolves around her.  I am just a tool, a necessary appendage with an opposeable thumb with a perfect 5 high 100 foot long Frisbee throw that she thrives on.  There are no bad catches, only bad throws.