4th of July at the beach

Hey! On the fourth of July we went to the beach. It was a nice day. It was about 20 degrees cooler on the coast. We played on the beach at Devil's Punchbowl and ate at the nearby Mo's. For the uninitiated, about the best meal that can be had at Mo's is the Brucewich sandwich with a side of clam chowder. It's a good thing they don't offer a side of slumgullion with the Brucewich, otherwise I'd have to drive to the coast every day for lunch. That would be somewhat inconvenient.

We selected an interesting spot at the beach at the bottom of the 103 stairs that swoop you from the parking lot to the sand. It was a sufficiently windy day that a good number of visitors would park in front of the punchbowl, exit their cars, take in the view for a few minutes, and drive hastily away. A knowledgeable beach goer sidesteps this scenario, descends the stairs, and finds themselves in the calm protection of the cliffs above. Comfortable, if not a bit smug in our cozy environs, it did not take long after having set up the various umbrellas and blankets to notice a somewhat less than delicate odor wafting over our little stretch of sand. For a time, the conversation centered on the root cause of the problem. There are no port-a-potties on the beach. Sewage has not been dumped there for a generation. Everyone was properly bathed (this was considered inwardly among all present I'm sure) and the only diaper to be changed was fresh and new. After all of this careful consideration, it was decided that the fetid air must certainly be a result of the rotting sea lion carcass a few yards from our carefully chosen beach spot. It's always something...

On a related note, while we were gathering up our things at the end of the day, I observed a handsome brown retriever dog as it investigated the carcass. What a delightful find for a canine! I could plainly see, in the expression on his face, the near overwhelming desire to have a luxurious roll in that treasure. Years of experience with furious owners wielding the threat of untold baths must have been the only thing staying the urge. Of course there was but one thing for a self-respecting dog to do. He looked so proud and regal as he lifted his leg to pee on the rotting flesh and bones. After taking a few steps away and almost as if by afterthought, he turned back, repositioned himself and took a healthy dump in just the right spot. You've got to love dogs...