There was a dog lost on the beach today.
It acted like a child at first, playing and dancing in the waves that washed up to shore. It was a happy dog. Then it seemed to be searching, to be looking for something important.
It walked around the legs of the locals, drinking early morning coffee that made the dog sniff the air. It moved between chairs and stools propped up against the board walk, half interested in nothing in particular. It seemed to become a communal thought by all of us there that he was lost. We hoped with each person briskly walking by that they would stoop down and pat the dog’s head, clip a leash to his collar and return home.
There was a collar, it had to belong to someone. And I would wager a mouthful of sand it was searching for the person that it loved dearly.
It made me wonder though, what if we are missing the whole point? The dog refused to be touched by anyone, coaxing them instead to play. Another man with his own dog even tried to get near enough to get hold of the collar and hope to find a number to call on the tag.
Why was the dog running from them?
Remember it is a happy dog, and in my mind it knew well enough the help we were trying to give. Then why did it run? Where was his owner? I looked out over the crashing waves, surfers trying their best to keep their heads above the water. There seems to be less of them than when I first sat down to enjoy potatoes, meat, and eggs. Finishing this thought I look up again and see the dog is gone. Maybe it was found. Taking a sip of my coffee gone cold, I think secretly instead the dog returned to the ocean itself, where it desperately searches for something it cannot find.