Last month we brought our basset hound, Virgil, to the Pelican Inn for his first trip to the beach. He is a loyal and affectionate dog whose male companionship is greatly appreciated by our father, who would be the only man in our family if not for Virg.
We were excited to give the hound his first taste of sand and ocean, and he happily followed Emma along on the boardwalk to the beach—until he encountered the sand and saw the water in front of him. While everyone else walked down towards the ocean, Virgil quickly scampered back up the boardwalk stairs to the house. He did not like what he saw.
While initially amusing, we feared that Virgil’s distaste for the ocean would be the unforeseen kink in our plans for the Inn. We sisters grew up loving the ocean and sand for swimming and sandcastles--things Virgil probably wouldn’t come around to. But we also loved the beach because Dad loved it. He had showed us how activities that were usually unremarkable (sitting and thinking, walking, etc) became remarkable when done at the beach. We hoped Virgil, as Dad's only boy, would learn this, too.
The next morning, Virgil gave the beach a second chance to impress him--and it did. Dad proudly reported that his dog ran and ran and ran, and even let the ocean get him a bit wet. Despite assumptions that this venture would leave Virgil tuckered out for the rest of the day, he wore me out later that afternoon trying to keep up with him. And I run marathons.
I suppose we weren’t too surprised how quickly the dog came around—as a member of the Taylor family, love for the beach is probably in his blood.