Not my pic, but the pic I might have taken had I remembered my camera:
We spent yesterday (day 3 recovering from the "Going Away" bash) at a sunny little Memorial Day cookout and driving to Rockaway, where we bid adieu to the Atlantic Ocean. Charley and Sophie were totally bonkers with the sand in their toes, bounding around and tangling their retractable leashes incessantly. Dogs technically weren't allowed on the boardwalk or the beach, but we conveniently overlooked the online rule-list that we specifically searched for to see if dogs were allowed. We also averted our eyes at the "No Dogs Allowed" sign next to the boardwalk (it was just leaning there, like it had been forgotten, so obviously it didn't apply). And we definitely didn't read the list of prohibitions next to the stairs that listed "No Dogs May to October" as Rule #4.
Then Sophie immediately pooped one of those slimy gross poos right on the boardwalk. Pern smudged it around and into the cracks with a plastic bag, and then we walked away as though nothing had happened. Two men in black shirts approached us and Jared froze, "Are those guys enforcement??" Pern wasn't listening and Sophie bounced toward them and we were sure that was the end. But when I squinted I realized one guy was wearing a ski cap, and the other guy a black Mets hat. And their "uniforms" were tattered black windbreakers. And the guy on the left had a 40 oz. beer in his hand.
So we ran down to the beach and up a grassy knoll and found two snowboots in a garbage bag on the top (?), almost tangled ourselves in some late night fisherman's line, soaked the cuffs of our pants, collected oyster shells, tossed the terrified and quite wussy city dogs in the surf, subsequently tried to goad them in and ended up causing 6-inch deep paw-drag tracks toward the water, ogled at the sliver of a moon with it's silky sperical planetary outline, saw some light striping the sand dramatically under the boardwalk (and started a hearty rendition of the song of the same name), and said goodbye to the Gulfstream current. We have a few days yet in New York, but I can safely say, "Pacific, oh you mighty ocean, we have begun our journey West."
Then Sophie immediately pooped one of those slimy gross poos right on the boardwalk. Pern smudged it around and into the cracks with a plastic bag, and then we walked away as though nothing had happened. Two men in black shirts approached us and Jared froze, "Are those guys enforcement??" Pern wasn't listening and Sophie bounced toward them and we were sure that was the end. But when I squinted I realized one guy was wearing a ski cap, and the other guy a black Mets hat. And their "uniforms" were tattered black windbreakers. And the guy on the left had a 40 oz. beer in his hand.
So we ran down to the beach and up a grassy knoll and found two snowboots in a garbage bag on the top (?), almost tangled ourselves in some late night fisherman's line, soaked the cuffs of our pants, collected oyster shells, tossed the terrified and quite wussy city dogs in the surf, subsequently tried to goad them in and ended up causing 6-inch deep paw-drag tracks toward the water, ogled at the sliver of a moon with it's silky sperical planetary outline, saw some light striping the sand dramatically under the boardwalk (and started a hearty rendition of the song of the same name), and said goodbye to the Gulfstream current. We have a few days yet in New York, but I can safely say, "Pacific, oh you mighty ocean, we have begun our journey West."
is it weird that i get to enjoy checking my own blog for updates, cause it's pretty awesome
ReplyDeleteMolly, you're a fabulous writer! And this is a great account of what was a truly great afternoon and evening. I totally forgot about the lines Under the Boardwalk. I need to go back there. Wish I could take you all with me next time...
ReplyDelete