10/20/2026
Salty Dog
I just returned from my first trip to the beach. It’s hard to believe it took my parents more than three years to take me there.
But I don’t want to give the impression that it’s all their fault, because it’s not. Some of it is mine.
My name is Maisy, and I used to have a problem traveling in a car. If I rode in one longer than 15 minutes, I threw up. After a lot of practice – and any number of different motion sickness medicines – I reached the point that my parents thought I might be ready for a longer drive.
How long? Six hours, which is how long it takes to drive from Senoia to Jacksonville Beach. I did pretty well riding in the back seat, if I do say so myself. Other than barking at several people when we stopped for gas, I pretty much kept my snout shut. That says a lot, considering I was awake the entire time.
The first day on the beach the weather was beautiful. Mom had me on a leash to keep me from running free, something I’ve been known to do without one every now and then (but mostly now). Mom also knows when dad takes me for neighborhood walks, I bark at and sometimes chase after anything that moves: people, cars, animals, and life-sized inflatable lawn decorations.
So the leash was actually a pretty good idea. It may have even kept me from getting locked up, because there was a white truck patrolling the beach with ‘Animal Control’ painted on the side. Mom said if I misbehaved in any way it would come after me. So technically, I guess wearing a leash probably saved me from myself.
However, for maybe the first time in my life, I didn’t bark at a single thing that moved the entire walk. That’s because there were too many things to choose from, none more enticing than that big thing on one side of us that mom referred to as the ‘ocean.’
Initially I didn’t know what the ocean was, but when dad said I shouldn’t drink it – something about ‘whale p**p’ – I knew it was mostly water. That, and whatever whale p**p is. I know all about p**p, but I’ve never heard of whales. But I’d bet a biscuit it’s a really big dog.
There was a surfing competition going on, and dad thought it might be fun if I could participate. So he asked and the man in charge wanted to know if I’ve ever even stood on a surfboard before. Without being told, I hopped up on one nearby that was laying in the sand. Not just for the man, but to prove to myself that I could.
Then the man asked if I knew how to swim. The truth is I’m not a big fan of water, other than the kind I drink out of a bowl. So dad was honest and told him no.
That’s when I looked out in the ocean and saw that every contestant, after throwing their surfboard in the water and laying down on them, were – get this – dog paddling. Although I can’t say I’ve done it myself, I’ve been told that one day it will come naturally to me. But now wasn’t the time to prove it, because the man stood firm on his answer. I wasn’t going to compete.
We ended up walking a total of four miles on the beach our first day, from where we were staying to the Jax Beach pier and back. We walked that distance the next two days as well, only the wind was blowing so hard on both – up to 40 miles per hour at times – that we walked into the wind on 1st Street for two miles before crossing over to the beach and returning with the wind at our backs. We did that because the loose sand was blowing everywhere and dad didn’t want it to get in my eyes, but I will confess that some got stuck in my backside.
I stayed awake in the car the whole drive home as well, which surprised me because I was (sorry) dog tired from spending so much time on the beach. Since my parents told me I was a good girl the entire vacation, what happened when we got back home came as a bit of a surprise. And I don’t mean that in a good way.
They put me directly in the shower. Dad called it a ‘desalination’ bath. To me it was torture.
Later that night I heard mom say she’d like us to have a house on the beach one day.
I don’t know if we ever will, but if I have any say in the matter, she’s got my bark.
