The Beach and the Retriever

A Writer's Cramp entry: Today's Prompt is:
a Lost key, a found love, and a sunset.
This should be a Romantic Comedy less than a 1,000 words and written in 24 hours...

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The Beach and the Retriever

         I always visited the ocean on Saturday evenings. Just as the sun bulged in red and orange lights, and the sky narrowed to a tapestry of liquid fire, I pushed my legs forward against the sand dunes and strode across the beach.

         Sometimes the crabs grabbed on, and I danced a bit, but the sky enticed me to the coolness of the waves. When I remembered to do so, I removed my shoes, and the sea gobbled at my toes. At times I crawled up on the boulders where during the day the seals had sunned. I sat, attempting to avoid the white speckled pearls of the birds. Mostly I was successful, but sometimes a stray dangled in slippery goom. Quite often it was exactly where my naked foot found perch.

         The ocean waves beat a tom-tom on the sands and then retreated, slurping with shallow gargles and gurgles. My heart found rhythm in the dependability of such ocean breakers. And I sighed and watched as my lonely heart cried for equal dependability.

         A Styrofoam paper cup floated, bobbing up and down with fluid constancy. I studied its journey as it fought against great odds –- the depths of the ocean, a passing motor cruiser, a shark attack. When at last it landed, claiming the beach as victor, I marveled at its endurance.

         A stray dog circled the beach and then came and joined me. We spoke shyly at first, but as time passed, and the sun began to climb down into the water, the dog and I formed a relationship. He licked my face, and I expounded on the journey of the Styrofoam cup. It was obvious Rusty, as I called him, admired my depth of perception and the philosophy I delivered with my analysis.

         Rusty moved closer. He whined until I placed my hand on his back. My touch sent him waggly with delight. It was good to feel needed and connected.

         I enlightened Rusty on many things – my tonsillectomy in kindergarten, failing algebra, my first date. He was a good listener. He never interrupted. His dark brown eyes, glowing with interest and reciprocation, watched my face without blinking, serious and attentive to my words.

         I’ll admit I was taken with him. I wondered if he lived with someone, but I did not ask. Our friendship was too new.


         We sat like that, entwined, until the first stages of dark crept over the beach. Its fingers probed the crannies of the rocks, stretching shadows across the crusted and barnacled, craggy boulders. Then, the lobsters came out and raised pinchers threateningly. Such territorial animals were not my cup of coffee! I stood up and explained to Rusty that it was time for me to go.

         Rusty panted a bit. He slobbered on my hand, but he did not attempt to restrain me. He let me walk away. Yet five deep imprinted sand tracks later, he followed me. His wet nose pressed against my bare legs.

         Perhaps I would have invited Rusty to take a ride with me. The moon was round as it often is -- unless it’s curved and spiny or not there at all. But that night it was low in the sky and dangled like a huge sucker, waiting for me to lick.

         Rusty suddenly barked. I didn’t know if it was a goodbye or a "I have to go to the bathroom". I turned to ask, but he'd already bounded away, running towards another. I caught up with them. Rusty was salivating all over a strange man’s leg. It was obvious our brief conversations had meant nothing to him. I was already forgotten. I walked on by.

         I let out a sigh and fought against my tears. Rusty had betrayed me -- he belonged to another. I should have known. Loveable as they are, golden retrievers are always fickle.

         As if to tease me for my dashed hopes, Rusty barked again. His owner had attached a leash, but it did not hold the retriever. Rusty leaped away from the man and wrapped himself around me, crowding my legs. I should have resisted, yet my hand reached down and greeted him as fondly as in the moments we had earlier shared.

         “I see you’ve made friends,” the man said, walking closer. I glanced up and saw coffee-brown eyes, big as sand dollars, sad as puppy eyes.

         “Yes. We discussed Styrofoam and tonsils,” I told him, entranced by the crinkles at the side of his eye slits. I like a man with laugh lines, especially devoid of sleep pellets!

         He glanced at me with a strange look, and then burst into bellows of laughter. “Amazing,” he said. “I’ve had the same conversations with Simon myself.”

         Russell turned out to be rather a nice fellow. He liked to sink his big toes down into the coolness of the sand, just like I did. He forgot to do things -- like take off his shoes before entering the surf. He even liked to talk about Styrofoam cups that bobbled up and down in the waves. But I didn’t fall in love with him – in spite of the fact that he owns my favorite golden retriever – not until I discovered what few people know. You see, Russell found someone’s house key years ago, and still he carries it around. He told me that he’ll probably never find the owner, and I doubt he ever will, but he keeps the key in his pocket just in case.

         That makes Russell my kind of guy -- someone who cares enough for others to hold onto a missing key, even if he must hold onto it forever... Think about the symbolism of that, the constancy... Consider what a good thing it is that he didn’t find a lost lawnmower, or something equally difficult to lug around. Or if it had been someone’s lost lunch, how long would he have carted that about...

         Rusty, whose real name is Simon, and Russell have become my permanent beach-walking buddies. When we meander through the sand dunes and climb the cliffs to stare out into the mystic ocean, now there are always the three of us. Only one has a moist, cold nose that sniffs in embarrassing places. Russell is much more courteous, and his nose isn't as cold and ...

          And so, the sunset blooms its carpet of color each evening as we view, and sometimes we remember to carry our shoes when we step into the surf...

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