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Sandy Love

He was a cur, a mangy mutt, a beach bum. He shamelessly begged food from visitors. If some decided leaving their victuals unguarded while they went swimming was a good idea, they soon lost them. When he lay down, he was almost indistinguishable from the sand on which he lay.

Other than the thieving habit, the dog was very well-liked by those who frequented this beach. The dog was very affectionate, a real doll. He had huge brown eyes and a ready wag. Despite his unkempt appearance, he had a real charm about him.

The resident lifeguard encouraged the cur to stay around, for the dog was most helpful when a beach-goer turned from a happy, sunny, perfect vacation day to a death-defying struggle for survival. This dog would run barking towards the water, alerting the guard, and splash into the surf, paddling clumsily towards the hapless unfortunate, often reaching the drowning victim before the lifeguard.

On occasion, a hobo would wander onto the beach and the protective pooch would guard him until he left, making sure he did not overstay his welcome.

Even so, no one, not the cruelest hobo or the most thoughtless child, held this mutt in too low of an opinion or treated him with any less than the utmost respect. He was a trademark of the beach. No mother feared for the safety of her babe when he was around. Boys found him a cheerful, good-natured companion. Girls who dressed him in bonnets found him gentle as a lamb. He was quite the tourist attraction.

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end.

One day, a young lad who was quite well known to the dog, being a regular visitor to this beach, swam beyond his normal reach and tired in the waves ere he was used to reach the end of his energy. As usual, the dog perceived the danger first and plunged barking into the water, churning up white foam in his haste to be of good service. What he did not notice, or chose to ignore, was that he was not the only animal who had seen the struggler.

A dorsal fin sliced through the water with cruel efficiency, racing the paddling dog.

The boy saw his new danger, gave one yell for help, and expended a new burst of energy in swimming for shore. This rush of adrenaline saved the youth's life, for it gave his animal rescuer a few precious seconds more to reach the attacker. The lifeguard managed to reach the boy and help him to shore, but a desperate struggle continued in the water.

The shark was in his home element, but the dog was fighting for a master, a favorite boy with whom there was a special bond. Still, while this gave the dog a certain advantage, no canine could have defeated those razor-sharp rows of teeth.

The fight did not last long, and soon the yellow fur of the dog mingled with a seemingly overlarge pool of blood.

He had lost his life in the noblest of causes: the preservation of another.

He had come from nowhere, and now he had left a deep impression. This beach would ever after be known as the home of Sandy Love.

Learn more about this author, Rebecca Williams.
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