Dogs, sand, and insanity.

I went down to Huntington Beach with Lady R. She's former Mossad, MI6 and doesn't want me to use her real name. Huntington is a rare and wonderful place where dogs of all shapes and sizes can run free on the sand, frolic in the surf, sniff whatever they want and chase slobbery sand-glazed tennis balls as long as their instincts demand. Lady R, let's call her Rachel. We build a rather elaborate, mildly, impressive bust of giant dog sticking out of the sand with a stick in it's mouth. Although the one dude who saw it said "Hey, that's a cool-looking bear." But if we'd hit that boy with an SAT exam I don't think he'd have impressed any of the Ivy league schools. Then he proceeded to ask me where I was from three times. Sadly he didn't even seem to be stoned.

It was a good outing for my two dogs because the bigger one, Loki, a male, refused to be mounted by a big prison-minded Labrador. It gave me the feeling that I imagine a father has upon sees his son finally stand up to the local bully. Most of the people and dogs were very nice. However, there was one lady who continuously swore obscenities at her dog whenever he wanted to romp around with the other dogs. She seemed to think that it was somehow highly inappropriate for dogs to chase one another and play. Highly inappropriate for a legally Dog friendly beach. "Uh... My dog is such an asshole," she explained to us. "Get over here you stupid fuck." I looked around to see if she had any children that I needed to kidnap and put into social services, where they might actually have a chance at self-esteem. She didn't. Even those homeless, mentally unbalanced people who travel around with their dogs tied to shopping carts always seem to treat their pets with kindness. I think this lady was the person that the pet rock had been invented for. "Good, rock. Sit... stay... Good boy."

I wonder if there is a place that would intervene in a situation where a dog is being verbally abused. Hopefully the woman will come to her senses, otherwise the dog will undoubtedly turn to a life of crime and use hardcore narcotics as a means to escape his everyday reality.

Another highlight of the day was when I tossed a large dead sand crab into Lady R's mouth. She didn't even punch me. I was shocked to get away unpunished for such a gross little boy act of vileness.

And to top it all off we found an enormous piece of seaweed that was as thick as a baseball bat around and about the size of my arm. This thing was bendy yet solid, which was fully proven when Lady R hit me with it in the spine, sprawling me out on the ground. After the pain and humiliation of being felled by a piece of ocean plant. I immediately determined to bring it home and place the enormous brown slimy tentacle looking thing into the toilet to make a scientific observation. What would my wife's reaction be to a massive U.F.O. (F for floating) sea weed chunk. I'll let you know.


Back to the cussing dog owner for a second.

The last time I got so angry with a dog owner was in Palm Springs. I was in a restaurant parking lot and I heard this little whimpery yelping coming from inside this big Ford SUV. I peered in to see a teeny, seven-eight week-old puppy no bigger than sub sandwich. This little, barely-weaned pup was inside a sealed SUV, inside a doggie carrier. No air, no water and parked in the 108 degree sun.

So, being the prick/animal lover that I am, I went into the restaurant asked to speak with the manager and immediately told him to page the owner of the SUV and it's license plate number. He obliged.

The guy was... how can I put this objectively...? He was a goomba fuckhead turd for brains. He was at first worried that he was in some kind of trouble and said he'd only left the puppy in there while he had lunch with his friends, because it wouldn't stop crying. Oh, yeah, can't eat your blueberry pancakes with a crying puppy around, better to fry him to a crisp.

I told the guy I was with P.E.T.A and explained what that was. Then he immediately wanted to know if he was getting a ticket. Unfortunately I told him I was from LA and he immediately began to doubt that LA P.E.T.A. had jurisdiction on him. He told me to fuck off back to LA. So I obliged him by getting in my car and calling the local police, exaggerating a tad about how long the puppy had been in the car. I'm sure he was gone by the time they showed up, but in my imagination the police maced him and choked him into submission with a nightstick.

I was proud to stick up for a helpless creature. I'm looking forward to getting a fake or borrowed badge for use in the future. Maybe a tazer too.