There were amazing sunsets, which I viewed from the dock behind Cricket's cottage.  The sky plumed dusty purples, corals, fuchsias and brilliant reds.  Later, I was able to see the night sky, cloudless and sharp, without the interference of city lights glowing their unnatural orange haze.  The moon was brilliant, with mottles of dusty greys.  Stars shone, one by one, some twinkling, some blazing, with ancient maps of realms beyond used by sailors, astrologers, faiths and seers.

On Saturday, we took Griffin to the dyke.  No, not a large woman in comfortable shoes and a mullet, but a natural barrier, where the cove is looked over by a lighthouse that is 125 years old.  The sand is more compacted than ocean front beaches, and the water is shallow and breaks more gently.  He ran up and played with a young yellow labrador.  As they danced in and out of the shallows, the yellow labs' owners expressed alarm.

They were worried that their dog couldn't swim.  He was two years old, bought as a companion animal for their children, with some service skills.  They'd tried to get him into the water before, to no avail.  Now that this two year old was dashing in and out with Grif, they panicked, thinking he'd drown.

The dog probably never swam before, having sensed their apprehensions.  A lab is wired to retrieve, which can often mean a dip in the old H2O.  Too many people own performance dogs, not understanding the animals' need to do it's job.  That's why many pure breeds end up at the pound.  Unable to do their "job", the dogs become neurotic, acting out in ways that confound owners.

  People smother their dog with affection, failing to fulfill his basic need; to work out in a way that answers his natural purpose.  (If you don't know what I'm talking about, or if you think I'm full of cow-pats, please read any books by Ceasar Milan, or the wonderful Temple Grandin).

We headed up the dyke, with Griffin running ahead, looking back and then running more.  We reached the end of the sand spit, where Griffin made another friend.  A lovely one year old rescue dog, white with ruby markings, rushed up ahead of her owner to greet him.  They splashed madly about, fought over sticks and had boatloads more fun than we did talking to the new owner!  He was more dull than watching kudzu grow, but he was clearly going to be a great owner.  He hikes, goes to the beach and has no fear about his beastie having the time of his life.

Today, Sunday, we returned from a post-wedding brunch.  Cricket had to go to a surprise 80th birthday party.  So, for the first time in years, I decided to get in the water.  Hampered by the constant self-consciousness about my weight, I've not bought a bathing suit since I last went SCUBA diving about six years ago, with my sister and father.  But I sucked it up, put on a pair of leggings, a bra and borrowed a T-shirt from Cricket.

The bay water was chilly, but I spent a good hour mucking about with Griffin.  We developed new a new game, where I kicked up the water, or muddled it with my arms into a fine froth and then he swam into it.  The tourists had gone, so I was free to make a spectacle of myself.

It was fantastic to be back in the water.  It was even better to be there just playing and enjoying Griffin's joy.  I won't wait til the water gets so cold next year.  Hey, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em!