In the pictures above, White Fang is under the cement picnic table and again, she is lying down in the dark patch of shade under the bush by the orange tent; hard to see, but at least she’s captured on film.
My beach dog
When I picked up my mail in Honolulu I got a
surprise. Carol Sue was coming over to visit me. She would be here by
week’s end and planned to stay for at least a month. I was surprised,
happy, and then anxious. Time would tell if that would turn out okay.
I’d postponed looking for a job for a while. C.S. probably was as
capable as anybody when it came to living in this kind of environment. I
just hoped she knew what she was getting herself into. In her letter
she said she was bringing the basics with her, meaning, I guessed,
that it was up to me to prepare for her arrival.
Before I left Honolulu I bought a new tent. It was big enough for both
of us. Back on the beach, after setting it up, I realized I was
embarking on a whole new lifestyle. The tent was huge, waterproof, and
private. My canvass pup tent, open in front, airy around the bottom,
not large enough to stretch out in, sat beside the bright, new, orange
nylon tent. It was now downgraded to mere storage. That faded piece of
canvass had a lot of memories attached to it, though. I swore I could
still see White Fang, the bitch terrier, sleeping on the blanket
inside. With my trusty terrier lying by my head, I used to feel safe