Younger and thinner then, older and lazier now,
I’ve told this story before, but set in Baja, San Quintin.
If you don’t know where it’s set this time, I won’t tell you.
No one needs to see more people here.
The old dog knows the way better than I do.
The only way down. Surfers do it with boards.
M follows the dog, with the yuppie ball flinger and my sandals.
Once there, I’m really only permitted one kind of picture.
I cheat and sneak a shot of a tiny crab in a tide pool.
Surfers leave their dogs to wait on the beach while they’re surfing.
Vanity
The indignity of being an old dog.