Saint and Human Get Soaked

When you live by the ocean, you come to think you understand it. Or maybe, you understand how much you don't understand, retaining a healthy respect for the unknown.

But sometimes we get a little too comfortable. Or distracted.

This morning we were reminded of this when Daisy and I went out for our walk. As we headed down toward state park, we noticed the sign about unpredictable surf. Glad they post that for tourists, we thought. We observed the water pouring high on the beach, normal for winter but not as intense as the past few days. Over the weekend, the waves rolled so high and forcefully that we chose not to venture down to the sand.

But this morning, the sea had settled a bit and the wet, sparkling sand looked very inviting. We got all the way to the north end and the gray-blue spikes and spires of crashing water amazed us with their beauty. It had started to rain, but I was dressed warmly and Daisy had her fur coat.

When we turned around at the end, Daisy began to act antsy and pull. The rain began to pour. I looked down toward the middle of the beach and could barely make out, as I peered between raindrops, three people. They accompanied what looked to be three to four rollicking dogs. Were they heading toward us? Or turning back because of the downpour? We kept walking and I squinted to see better. We reached a spot where we had to cross a little stream. Here freshwater pours down the hillside and meets the waves. Just as I discerned that the group had turned around, I noticed a wave coming. And a big wave at that.

It was too late to turn back and too wet to turn forward. All we could do was stand there, with one wave sloppily coming around front and one rapidly advancing behind.

My soaked legs and feet

They call these "sleepers," big waves that emerge out of what looks like a calm sea. I planted my feet as the water swirled around us and I could feel Daisy getting lighter. Stay, Daisy! Daisy, stay! (I should have called, "Swim!") I encouraged her and held on. The water washed up to my thighs but Daisy managed to stick with me. Finally the flow subsided and we plowed forward and out of that dangerous spot. She shook a couple of times, and I could see sand sprinkled all about her coat.

I'm not sure whether having to swim against a rising current was more frightening to Daisy than those dogs down the beach. As soon as she got free of the water, she began to press forward toward the other animals, lurching right and left and pulling hard. All I know is that when we got home, she wanted a hug and was very, very tired.

How to remove oil from a dog's foot

Honestly, we're not sure. How do you remove oil from a dog's foot? We had to try to figure this out earlier today, when Daisy seemed to be walking oddly, as if she didn't want to put her foot down. There weren't any stickers in there, but sure enough, there did appear to be a blob of that bunker oil stuck between her pads.

We have learned over the past week that oil on the fur is not something to be taken lightly. Down at the beach, the volunteers from the Gulf of the Farallones National Marine Sanctuary have been out every morning looking for signs of oil from the Cosco Busan spill and for sick birds. They warned us to keep an eye on Daisy's paws. If she were lick any oil off, she could be poisoned.

For a seagull, they said, a small blob on the feathers is enough to kill. That's because the birds try to pick it off and then ingest it. Hundreds have died already from oil sticking to their feathers, matting their fluffy protective coat, and destroying their ability to stay warm and stay afloat. Earlier this week, the volunteers told us glumly, they had found more than 50 oiled sea gulls just down the road at Venice Beach near Half Moon Bay. They had counted nine globs of congealed oil on Montara beach just that morning, including one stick just covered with the stuff. Not the kind of thing you'd want your pup to pick up and run with.

The oil is new here, but not the other detritus of humanity. Each morning we pick up at least half a plastic bag full of garbage. This week there has been an unusual number of discarded tampons. Who knows why? Maybe a garbage pail from a women's restroom somewhere got kicked into the sea.

The tide is powerful and high right now, and the crashing waves lift our spirits. But
even here, disregard for ourselves and our planet washes up every day.