Go Fish Galvez

As my fellow beach-goers were packing up for the day and the sun was beginning to wane, what I found—finally, at last!—on the beach was worth more to me than all of Jean Lafitte’s long-buried bullion topped off by a winning Lotto ticket.

Okay, that’s ridiculous. Gad! Just goes to show how a little unforeseen trauma can drastically skew one’s perspective, if only momentarily.

Still, I had a closer call today than I care to repeat any time soon. But let me begin at the beginning …

After a long morning and early afternoon in front of my laptop, bobbing and weaving to dodge the plethora of Internet scams (don’t ask), I decided enough already! and plopped the pooch in the pickup for a drive to the West End beaches. And a glorious day for beach bumming it was!

Tip and I headed southwesterly down 3005, the main arterial that ends at San Luis Pass, in search of a nice beach access point with good parking that wasn’t too crowded. This was going to be my first test-run with Tip on the Flexi-Leash (sorry about that, Cesar), so since there was a fair probability that bodily injury might result, either to me or to the beast, I decided the fewer witnesses the better.

So we traveled along 3005, all the way down to Sea Isle, where we found a nice long stretch of mostly uninhabited beach. I grabbed the camera, locked up the truck, and off we went.

For the record, and let me get this out of the way now, I am proud to report that Tip’s first foray on the Flexi-Leash turned out to be a huge success. Naturally, she loved the extra freedom to run around on a 25-foot lead, and I enjoyed it, too, not having to either run after her or be dragged along to the point of wanting to beat the living daylights out of her (but see “no witnesses”). I took her regular slip-lead along, too, because I realized that somehow I’ve got to invent a new doggy lesson, to make sure she knows to “heel” on the slip-lead but that she can run and explore pretty much at will on the Flexi-Leash. Dog brains are small. The big human brain will have to think this one through …

Anyway, we strolled along the beach, soaking up the sunshine, letting the gentle Gulf breezes evaporate our many worries, enjoying the gorgeous weather and the beautiful blue water. I found a few pretty seashells, a few more jellyfish, and a big dead catfish head (yes, just the head) while watching some little sandpipers scampering through the surf and another larger wading bird, who was mostly interested in picking at one of the white jellyfish washing ashore. Speaking of jellies, I did see a few, and they were of two different varieties, one being a rather lovely little guy, with a pretty shape in beautiful shades of deep turquoise. Tip wasn’t at all sure about the jellies and was downright terrified of the big dead catfish head. And this, from a pit bull. Shame!

After walking in one direction for awhile, we turned around and walked back to the truck so I could stow my little seashell finds in the cab before heading off down the beach in the other direction. At some point along this second trek, misfortune befell us.

Warning: When you go to the beach, never ever! carry your car keys in the breast pocket of your old, raggedy, blue-denim workshirt and then bend over periodically to admire or inspect, or occasionally pick up, a seashell, or even to pet your dog. Just don’t do it. Not now, not ever. Because if you do, you will find your tired self at the end of your long beach day with no keys at all in the breast pocket of your old, raggedy, blue-denim workshirt, a locked vehicle that you can’t get into, a so-close-yet-so-far cell phone on the dash of said locked vehicle that you can’t get into, perhaps with a dog who badly needs a drink of water that you can’t provide, either for the dog or for yourself, on a lonely stretch of beach with a waning sun, rapidly dropping blood sugar, and an escalating heart rate. Just don’t do it.

I, of course, did it.

Compounding my dilemma was the fact that, being new around these parts, I wouldn’t have known who to call had a cell phone magically dropped from the sky into my lap. I’m learning that sometimes being a freshly arrived quasi-hermit just doesn’t pay.

And now, take a long, close look at this last picture (for full effect, click to enlarge it).

Can you imagine walking along this seemingly infinite stretch of sand, looking left, looking right, not sure if the tide is coming in or going out, trying to discern a set of gold and silver car keys that are almost Darwinian in their ability to camouflage themselves on the tan and gray beach? Good luck!

DO NOT PANIC, I kept repeating to myself like a mantra. DO NOT PANIC.

Somehow, I didn’t. And finally, at long last, after two trips up and down the beach, once with Tip, once without, finally … hallelujah! There on the wet sand was my keychain of hope, of safety, of nice comfy car seats and life-sustaining water! THANK GOD! Somehow I had managed to win both the lottery AND Jean Lafitte’s booty, together disguised as a simple gold-and-silver keychain, and with thanks, all thanks, forever thanks! to … Kroger?

Yes, Kroger! If not for that bright-red plastic Kroger mini-card that I had months ago attached, somewhat disdainfully, to my keychain, I might never have noticed those Darwinian keys at all, lying there secreted on the camouflaging sand.

Hail Kroger! I will never shop at Randall’s again …