Pillar Point
Pillar Point
September 5, 2022
As we stroll down the path that leads to the beach, I can hear the seals barking in the distance.
A crane swoops by, flapping its massive wings, and perches on its nest in the flowing canopy of Cypress trees on the hillside. The nests, like huge baskets, are too high to see the babies inside.
It is silent today, no waves beating against the shore. No mist spraying or foam lingering on the beach.
The waves are calm in the harbor, with only the sound of seals. No wind.
We race to our favorite bench with a view of the jetty, the harbor, and the ocean beyond.
We can hear the waves now, feel the mist in the air, and see the kelp mixed with bubbling foam trapped in the rocks that line the water on the harbor side of the jetty.
Other dogs run along the beach, mouths open, breathing in the freedom of being off-leash.
You tasted that freedom before when you ran out onto the jetty, way off in the distance and where the water is deep.
You chased birds into the water and darted around fishing lines and people trying to catch their next meal until you were a little spec like a crab on a rock, and then I couldn’t see you at all.
I was afraid you would get stuck or tangled or taken by a rogue wave. I didn’t even know if you knew how to swim.
I screamed for you to return to me but to no avail. My weak voice was no match for the distance between us. It alarmed others trying to enjoy their day.
“She is clearly not ready to be off-leash,” fellow dog owners chided me.
I felt helpless and frightened, and angry at myself for making such a grave mistake. I thought you were ready. I thought you would always come to me when I called. It had been more than two years since we rescued you from a life of imprisonment and abuse from which you bravely escaped. It had been two years that you wouldn’t leave my side, that you always came to me when I called.
That day, you forgot you were afraid. You forgot that you needed me every minute of the day. You forgot that you didn’t trust anyone else.
Eventually, you bounded toward me like a horse in full gallop. You leaped past me and up the sand to a friendly and concerned couple that somehow lured you with their lunch.
They held you firmly until I could reach you. You waited for me and wagged your tail as I approached.
I put your harness on, we sat on our favorite bench, and I scolded you with love and a firm voice, relieved that I didn’t have to call the ranger to rescue you and admonish me for breaking the leash rule.
Your lips were dry from running with your mouth open. You were so proud of yourself for letting go of your fears. I gave you a bowl of water.
We walked back to the parking lot, sticking to the dirt path, and steering clear of the shoreline. We walked past the car and up the hill to the cliffs. I needed time to calm down. The white orb of the Airforce Station loomed in the distance. Three rabbits ran across the trail. You jumped with glee to try to catch them as they darted into dense shrubs, completely unaware of the danger you were in a few minutes earlier. The wind started to blow up and over the cliff. The cool air felt glorious as you turned your head to gulp it in, filling your lungs.
Today, as we walk toward our favorite bench, I know we both remember that day. Today we keep the leash and harness firmly attached. I know you long to run free like the other dogs. I want to let you off the leash, but I cannot. You are still not ready. A crane stands stoically on a log nearby. You don’t even notice it.
We walk by a man getting his dog into a boat for a ride. The dog is wearing an orange life jacket and excitedly jumps in. In the distance in the harbor, we see a kayaker with a dog. I am amazed that the dogs do not jump in the water to chase birds and sea lions. Could you ever be a kayaking or boating dog? I wonder. We both know the answer.
You don’t seem sad at all about being on the leash. You don’t even turn to gnaw it as you do at other times when you yearn to run freely. You are content. You are happy. You are loved.
