Bloodshed at Good Dog Beach

Kayaking dogs aren't seen very often -- it takes talent to do it well, plus a strong motivation to get to the beach
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The first day of spring, the first day of Semana Santa weekend, Good Friday. It’s definitely warmer, especially at midday, and the Capt is happy. “You know it’s warm enough, when the butter starts to melt,” he says. The butter, I noticed at lunch, is melting.

When you fall off the bicycle (or is it a horse?) you’re supposed to get back on, but nowhere does it say you have to get back on the same bicycle (or horse). The last time I landed on Good Dog Beach in Tenacatita, I was swept off the dinghy, along with Sofia, when we tried to leave the beach. Here we were this morning back in Tenacatita and I wanted to take Chica to the beach, so I decided to get on a different bicycle...in this case, my kayak. Sometimes, I’m told, landing on a particular beach can be easier with a kayak than a dinghy with its heavy motor. So I decided to give that proposal a try.

Chica is the perfect kayak dog. Once she’s in place between my knees she sits perfectly still while I paddle, looking straight ahead. I praised her repeatedly as we crossed the half-mile or so of gentle rollers heading for the beach, and it looked like we were going to make an easy landing--no visible rocks, a gradual dropoff--except I forgot one cruciial rule: watch your back! A big wave came in behind us, knocked us both off and sent the kayak rolling over me. Chica, being smarter than the average pup, propelled herself forward, reached the beach and kept on running.

The ebbing wave tried to take the kayak back to sea but I grabbed its painter and pulled it ashore. I was soaked, and ouch! bloody abrasions on my right knee and elbow but at least I’d made it to land. Then I noticed my Crocs were floating away on the next wave and waded out to retrieve them. Chica’s beloved orange ball was still safe in my pocket and I threw it for her.

Good Dog Beach is tiny, especially at high tide, so we didn’t stay long. I studied the waves, trying to remember the best way to launch a kayak into surf and watching a series of big ones come in that I definitely wasn’t ready to tangle with. Finally they seemed to settle down and I called Chica. She had vanished! Finally I saw her hiding behind a tree and realized she too had some doubts about the return trip. I located her orange ball, waved it at her and she came along willy nilly.

It turned out to be easier going out than coming in, possibly because I could see what was coming. I carried Chica by the strap on her float coat with one hand, the kayak painter with the other, out into the water about knee-deep, then placed her in her spot and as soon as I climbed in I paddled furiously over the next wave and we were off!

I’ve seen several dinghies and at least one kayak with dogs aboard, and I’m sure at least a few are landing on the beach. It can be done, I just need practice.

Chica (foreground) and Sofia eye the beach longingly.