My Little Guy was not fond of the beach last year. He was but a babe of eighteen months, and was deeply unhappy about the sand that wormed its way into every crack and crevice on his pudgy self.
But this year?
Things were different, my friends. This year, he thrust his paw at me, beckoning me to walk him closer to the water's edge. Beckoning is too sedate a word, actually. It was more grunty and commanding, kind of what you'd expect from Conan the Barbarian. All he was missing was the toothy fur pelt. Since I always respect the commands of a barbarian, I took his hand in mine, and we stepped up to the ocean.
As the surf began to curl in the distance, he'd look up at me, beaming, and announce, "Here comes!" The waves would break, usually knocking my whippet-thin 8-year-old son and sparkling blond 5-year-old girl helter-skelter. By the time the water reached us, it just kissed our toes. At most, it would slink around our ankles. Either way, Little Guy would thrill and dance and giggle, then tug me closer to the deep.
Next year, I'm going to have to put a leash on him.
But this year?
Things were different, my friends. This year, he thrust his paw at me, beckoning me to walk him closer to the water's edge. Beckoning is too sedate a word, actually. It was more grunty and commanding, kind of what you'd expect from Conan the Barbarian. All he was missing was the toothy fur pelt. Since I always respect the commands of a barbarian, I took his hand in mine, and we stepped up to the ocean.
As the surf began to curl in the distance, he'd look up at me, beaming, and announce, "Here comes!" The waves would break, usually knocking my whippet-thin 8-year-old son and sparkling blond 5-year-old girl helter-skelter. By the time the water reached us, it just kissed our toes. At most, it would slink around our ankles. Either way, Little Guy would thrill and dance and giggle, then tug me closer to the deep.
Next year, I'm going to have to put a leash on him.
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