Inspired by Miller’s Dad

Although we live only 1,500 steps from the Pacific Ocean, those nearby waters are strictly for whale watching or catching fish—preferably from the safety of a boat. You see, at the furthest point of the Baja where we live, the ocean goes out 20 feet and drops 20 feet. Swimming out there would be like jumping headfirst into a giant washing machine.

No, thank you.

Packing the Jeep and Heading North

Fortunately, there is a safer alternative. Cerritos Beach is a famous surf community in the Baja located about an hour north of Cabo. Unlike the dangerous drop-offs near our house, Cerritos has a smooth, sandy bottom that makes it perfect for swimming, playing, and—today—the annual dog surfing contest. 

Now, a bit about me: I am mostly lab and built with “shovels” for paws. Naturally, people assume I love the water. I don’t. I prefer dry land, and honestly, I don’t see why that’s so strange. Have you seen the dogs that go swimming? They end up soaking wet and get yelled at for shaking off too close to people. You’d think my lack of interest in water would be appreciated!

Besides, I still haven’t forgiven Dad for the time he decided to “test” my swimming skills by lifting me into the pool and letting go. Down I went. Straight. To. The. Bottom.

Since then, I have avoided water. Even when the rain or sprinklers puddle or the ocean crawls up onto the sand, I go wide. Safe. Smart. Dry.

Life’s a Beach (and I’m Loving It)

When we parked the Jeep, all I could see was sand stretching for miles to the left and right. The air was a sensory overload: salt air, beach picnics, and the ghost footprints of every dog that had walked the beach before me. I could feel the warm sun on my back while the waves crashed and people cheered on the longboard dogs from the shore.

We picked a spot close—but not too close—to the surf dogs. Mom and Dad unloaded the cooler, snacks, beers, chairs, an umbrella, towels, and my water bowl.

This, I thought, is a lifestyle I could get used to.

The Great Backpack Incident

After cheering on our favorite four-legged surfer, we set off to walk the beach before the finals. The warm sand felt amazing under my paws, and my nose was working overtime. Everything was peaceful. Everything was under control.

Then, suddenly, a switch flipped in my brain.

I just started running.

Somewhere behind me, a desperate voice echoed: “Miiiiilllllllleeeerrrrrrr!”

I wasn’t about to stop. My four legs were faster than Mom’s two, and I was a dog on a mission. My target? The backpacks of two girls who were minding their own business, suntanning and reading on towels under their umbrella. They had music playing, cold drinks beside them, and looked perfectly relaxed. It seemed like the ideal spot to make my mark.

Target locked. Target marked.

A long, very loud  “Noooooooo!” followed.

A few seconds later, Mom was there. Unfortunately for her, she arrived just in time to witness my relief. With one hand on her head and the other digging into her pocket for pesos, Mom began apologizing for my lack of manners.

Thankfully, the girls were laughing. Instead of being upset, they insisted on petting me and gushing about my greenish-yellow eyes. Listen, I might have an uncontrollable urge to mark random beach property, but there is no denying I am a very handsome boy.

A King on Dry Land

After the excitement died down, I watched the surf contest from a safe distance. I dug a deep hole below the hot sand, crawled in, and watched like I was the king of the beach.

Strangely enough, it’s the short, stubby-legged bulldogs and terriers that seem to do the best on surfboards, easily outperforming the long-legged, shovelled dogs like me. Maybe it’s a center-of-gravity thing. Maybe it’s a love of the water. Or maybe they just don’t know where sharks live. 

All in all, it was a fun-filled day. I would say my first trip to the beach couldn’t have gone better.

Well… as long as those weren’t your backpacks.

About the Author

Miller is a rescue lab mix with shovel-sized paws, unique greenish-yellow eyes, and a preference for dry land. When he isn’t busy wooing the ladies, he can be found napping in freshly dug sand holes. He currently resides in Cabo San Lucas, where he lives by the motto: “If it involves swimming, count me out; if it involves sprinting, I’m already there.”