I had just finished making my fourth dog contact of the day. The couple was apologetic and friendly. I gave the pooch a petting and returned to my tower with them. They thanked me for saving them a ticket. I thanked them for being understanding. They waved, I waved, and we all had smiles on our faces.
I scanned to the north and saw dog contact number 5 headed my way. Some days it is like a conveyer belt. You send one group off in one direction, and from the opposite end another enters. In this instance, walking a spaniel was father laden with beach toys and his son and daughter. The children were probably four and six years old. Pops had to be in his late thirties, early forties. I grabbed my can and headed in their direction.
Smiling, I approached the family. Sometimes I'm certain that some offenders suspect that they cannot have a dog on the beach but they decide to go for it and see what happens. These individuals start to slow their walk and stare at you as you approach. They do not need to open their mouths to say, "Goddamnit!" Their expressions say it for them.
Even with the sunglasses Pops' face made it clear how he felt about my nearing presence. I suspect the line to enter the parking lot had been long and the kids had been impatient. "Be sympathetic," I reminded myself.
I presented as the friendly, informative lifeguard. "Excuse me sir, unfortunately you cannot have dogs on the beach. You are more than welcome to take it back to the boardwalk or over to the playground area, but you cannot have it down here on the sand."
Pops didn't even wait for the options part of my statement. With a exaggerated dismissive wave, he turned around and started stomping away from me. And not in the direction of the boardwalk or playground, but down the beach. I think he was thinking, "If I don't see him he will go away," although judging by his demeanor I'm sure expletives stood in place of any reference to me.
"Excuse me sir, not in that direction. You will have to take your dog off the beach."
He continued to ignore me. His children did not. While Pops defiantly dragged his charges through the sand, his back saying so much in its silence, his son and daughter stared back at me with concern. They looked at their father. They looked at me. Back to their father. Back to me. Their looks said it all. Daddy was misbehaving.
I repeated my last statement. The third time is supposed to be the charm, so why not give it a chance? I took the chance. He turned in the direction of the water. This was not working.
"Excuse me sir, please be the one to set the example for your children and take your dog off the beach," I coaxed, my tone still even. His shoulders locked and he pivoted in the direction of the parking lot. I returned to my tower.
Scanning the swimmers, I gave one last look in Pops direction. Still moving towards the parking lot, he was walking backwards staring directly at me. I raised my hands to my chest, palms upwards in a simple, "What?" He took two more steps and then turned around, raising his right hand behind his head as he did so. And then, as if spring loaded, his middle finger leapt to attention. Yep, he had had a tough day. The sad thing was his kids were probably about to have a tougher one. I went back to watching the water.
© Copyright 2011 David S. Carpenter. All Rights Reserved
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