An afternoon visit to the RV Park at Punto Cerritos
I went at sundown. I
sat by the pool, in a chair upon the cliff. Three
larger figures and two smaller ones caught my attention, in the surf.
I kept watching until the smaller figures disambiguated themselves. One, a child, soon left the three
larger. Other family adults lifted it out of the water. What was the smaller remaining
object that seemed to pass back and forth among the three? It was a dog!
The dog would swim to one, he seemed to prefer the more matronly figure. She would push him off towards one of the
other two, males; one looked to be a teen of perhaps 14. The latter seemed to enjoy dunking the dog
below the surface of the water. Then the
dog would swim to the shelter of the woman.
She would not hold him for more than a minute, before his four little
legs would be paddling off to one of the other.
The dog must have been swallowing water.
I don’t see how he could have avoided that, given his dunkings, and his
swimming in rough choppy sea.
It was a small dog, I could see that. Perhaps the size of my Junior.
This activity went on and on. Ten minutes, fifteen minutes from the time I
first spotted them. Eventually play time
was over, and they all struggled back to the rocky land. The young man had the dog in the crook of his
elbow, and plopped him on a high rock.
The black dog just stood, as if stunned.
He did not shake the water off him.
He was scooped up again and carried, I could not see where because of
the cliff ledge blocking my view. One
thing was clear. This dog was
exhausted. I sent prayers his way. Was this abuse usual for him, or did this
family have ways to coddle him and care for him in the course of his daily life. By the bulk of his stubby shape I sensed he
was not a puppy. Did he enjoy this game
of keep-away? Does he feel more loved because his family includes him in these
water games?
I am left to wonder.
Clearly, I was witness to a dog in distress; I cannot get the picture of
it out of my mind.
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