Penelope and Me: Lessons I Learn Walking My Dog at the Beach

Lesson #5: Not Everything is a Lesson. Or is it?

by Dyanne Kelley

My guy and I walk Penelope this evening after sundown.  It’s a nice time of day, fewer people, fish jumping in the water, and an ocean breeze to cool us. Penelope exhausts herself running for the ball. We turn around and head back taking our time.  A dog off-leash, no collar, looks like a white husky mix, trots down the beach heading for Sweet P. We stop. My guy yells ahead to a group of women, asking if this is their dog. No response. He yells again. One of the women breaks away from the group and casually walks toward us. Penelope and the dog begin the sniffing ritual.

The woman, young and exotic, wearing a pretty one-piece with a sarong wrapped around her waist approaches. She is drinking a can of something tucked in a Koozie. Without hesitation she walks up to my guy, looks him directly in the eyes, and says… Why don’t you turn around so I can sniff your A**, and greet you properly? Jaw drop. It’s like I’m invisible. We smile like it’s the most normal greeting in the world as we brace for what might follow. She smiles back and carries on a perfectly pleasant brief conversation that I can no longer remember due to shock except that her dog is supposedly nearly blind. He found us from 100 yards away, I think.  

The exotic woman then walks over to a group of women huddled on-top of the lifeguard stand and offers to take their picture. She tells them she thinks she has captured all of their dysfunction. They laugh and ham it up some more.

My guy asks me several times if I think she is lit. I don’t really know. Is there another explanation? I shrug.  I try to find meaning in the encounter and can find none. We shake our heads. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, I think. Freud.

I smile. Or is this the Universe’s humorous way of payback for Diet Coke Man?  I’ll let you decide.