Sand Dogs

Yesterday, I drove Roscoe and his BFF Leila to the dog beach in Santa Cruz for an hour of extended horse (doggie) play. 

These two get along ridiculously well. All they want to do when they're together is rough-house and chase each other and bite each other's tails and wrestle and bark and snarl and bare their teeth and chew on each other's necks and ears and basically act like rabid, wild beasts. I used to kind of poop myself every time they'd mess around like this on the beach back in the day, but I now understand that it's all fun and games. It's a little embarrassing when there's a crowd on the beach and they look on, mortified. I just roll my eyes and shrug and walk away. These two are just crazy sand dogs. 

Oh, hey, what's up?

Checking out the beach.

It was a beautiful, stormy day out on the beach. Prime Brontë weather. We got caught in a light sprinkle just as a new storm system rolled in.

Sand dogs in action.

Roscoe, especially, gets pretty crazy looking. It's the feral canine within, I guess.

Phew. Time to take a break and oggle the other dogs on the beach, clearly. 

I love all the sand art etched in to the cliffs along this beach. There's all kinds of bizarro goodness left behind by winter birds, junkies, kids, and weirdos. Here's a nice example on the northern-most cliffs. 

I decided to take a portrait of the dogs in front of it. I don't have very good voice-command with Leila, but I was able to put Roscoe into a sit-stay as I backed up to take the shot. 

That lasted just about as long as it took Leila to wander off... 

Sand dogs will be sand dogs, after all.