Winter at the Beach

"Can you control your dog please?" she asked, her voice jagged with irritation.

"He's friendly. Never hurt anyone." I replied, as if presenting a gentle history of the beast would allay her fears. "He just likes shoes. Especially children's shoes." The words sounded creepy even as they formed in my mouth. Now voiced, they somehow took on a sarcastic edge, as though salted by the beach itself.

Chimmi cocked his head towards my voice, challenging my statement. He looked as though he'd very much like to hurt someone, a discernible frown growing on his face as he clutched the little girl's shoe between his teeth. A dangerous energy possessed him now; he was an agent of ruin, benighted by his thoughts. He existed only to destroy.

I knew the shoe was all but lost, and the fact that it was covered in pink glitter seemed to make things all the more tragic, like the very concept of innocence was about to be hurled into a void. The woman, suddenly aware of the stakes, tried to snatch it from his jaws, but he was too quick, laughing with his eyes as he bounced across the sand towards the water's edge.

I gave chase, having to, forced to seem as though I shared her concern. Running had never come easily, and the sand only made my attempt seem clumsy and slow.

"It's going to get wet!" she cried after me. Her voice crackled on the wind like dried newspaper, scrunched and tearing as though she were disgusted with the contents. Chimmi paused at the threshold of the shore and turned back to stare at me. With a shriek of despair from the woman, he decided on his wicked agenda, plunging headfirst into the salty foam which crashed against the sand.

French bulldogs are not renowned for their swimming ability. Short legs coupled with a small, barrelled body make them less than ideal for movement in general, yet as though charmed by the evil of his design, Chimmi began paddling out to sea at a rate heretofore unseen. He appeared to be heading for the line of grey cargo ships anchored to the horizon. He swam furiously, his chest sinking and rising with the chop, little white paws scratching at the surface and ears flattened by the freezing wind. Clouds appeared as dark smudges in the sky, racing towards the distant ships, encouraging him with electrical fervour.

I wasn't about to go in. I called his name, but my words were only caught by the breeze and scattered uselessly like a handful of sand. I sat, holding my knees against my chest, and tried to enjoy myself.