PAWLEYS ISLAND, S.C. -- The Morning File has never desired to go all "Marley & Me" in writing about the dog we live with, for fear of alienating animal-haters. We can't really afford to lose any more readers, and animal-haters are a coveted demographic, especially in the 58-to-74 age group that contains many of our younger devotees.
But then we read all the "Animal Tales" essays in Portfolio from people about their strange or otherwise interesting dogs, cats, birds, rabbits, horses, squirrels and more. No one has yet written about their pet python or some pachyderm they encountered by accident in the Pennsylvania Turnpike median strip and took home to raise, but it's probably just a matter of time.
So it seemed like maybe people enjoyed reading about other people's animal adventures, and if they had pets, especially dogs -- well, the stupider the better for a good yarn.
So we thought we might write about Izzy, our adopted-from-the-Humane Society mutt who is on her first-ever beach vacation. She is having a grand time of it.
The prequel: a nice long ride
First of all, there was the 12-hour car ride from Pittsburgh to South Carolina. To humans, especially the teenagers accompanying her in the back seat, it's a trip of unimaginable torture. Izzy, however, views car rides the way Germans view words -- the longer, the better.She had a bigger problem upon arriving in our rental home. She seemed to expect that, somehow, at the end of an interminable drive that would make even A.J. Foyt never want to get behind a wheel again, the point should be to end up in the old familiar house and yard where she knew every scent and nook.
She paced around and around and looked at us anxiously, as though thinking, "What is this place? Why would you leave behind the fine smells of the old one? Are you as nuts as you seem when you bathe yourselves even when you're not covered in mud?"
Then there was the matter of where she would be permitted to park herself inside the rental home. Izzy is actually short for Isabel, the queen she was named after based on her regal bearing. From the time we met her, she seemed to feel she was in charge, and anyone unwilling to accommodate her needs and interests ought to suffer the same abuse as Queen Isabel's opponents did during the Spanish Inquisition.
We let her get away with this at home. But here, there are rules for her to follow.
The key rule is the one the rental agency says will cost us a huge amount of money if it's ignored: Stay off the friggin' furniture.
This is a hard one to get used to when you've spent most of your life nonchalantly shedding your white hair on every chair, sofa and bedspread with dark fabric. "Down, Izzy -- off!" we uncharacteristically shout at her now when she keeps ignoring the rule we carefully explained to her weeks in advance.
"What rule? What is 'off'? What do you mean 'down'? Go take one of your many stupid showers and leave me alone, peoples."
Surf's up
As we started a weeklong battle on that front, we took Izzy to the beach for the first time in her life. It was evening, when few distractions were likely to be encountered of the kind Izzy has trouble with. Mainly, she has problems with big black dogs. She is a big white dog. She is a doggy racist. We don't know where this comes from, but it is very aggravating.Fortunately, the beaches of South Carolina appear to have few black dogs. They have waves and water, however, that appear to make her think she's ended up in some kind of doggy heaven -- the only thing missing is abundant meat lying around on the beach.
Unfortunately, the beaches here also have plenty of sand. This is great except when you have a dog who likes rolling around on the ground in epileptic-style seizures every minute or two, without explanation.
Before long, as the sand covers her, she becomes what appears to be a walking, rolling dune, camouflaged all the better to pounce at some unsuspecting dog that may stroll by on its own vacation.