Chapter 11 2
Marley looked so proud, as if he had just gifted us a valuable Rupp diamond.As the wise Barbara Woodhouse predicted in her book, our deranged, unusually dull dog has entered the shit-eating phase of his life.
After Crowe was born, everyone we knew—except for my devoutly Catholic parents who prayed to a dozen young Jrogan—thought we should never have another child.In the dual-income, professional families we visited, one child was common, two was considered a little too much, and three was almost never heard of.Especially considering the hardships we went through with Crowe, so no one could understand why we would subject ourselves to the messy process all over again.But we've come a long way in life since we killed our houseplants on our wedding day.We are already parents.Our two little boys have brought us more joy than anyone or anything else in the world.Now, they are the meaning of our lives, and although we must lose the leisurely comfort of vacations, lazy weekends reading novels, and romantic dinners delayed until late at night, we find our meaning in new ways. Joy—in the splashed applesauce, in the little nose prints on the window panes, in the soft symphony of little bare feet walking the hall at dawn.Even on the worst days, we try to find things that make us smile, and we know that every parent, sooner or later, discovers the magic of new parenthood—the growth of a child. The first tooth and the incomprehensible, inarticulate twittering—a brilliant, fleeting blip in the long and mundane journey of life.
The mother of one of my alumni told us, "Enjoy parenting as much as you can, because before you know it, they're grown up." Disapproval.Now, just a few years after we heard those words, we realize she was right.Although her words are just a commonplace cliché, we can find truth in them.The two boys grow rapidly, each week ending another chapter that cannot be read again.One week Patrick was still sucking his thumb; the next week he had dropped the habit for good.One week Crowe is a little guy in a crib; the next he's a little boy using his toddler bed as a trampoline.Patrick was slurring his words at first, and when women whispered to him, as they always did, he would put his fist on his little ass, pout his little mouth, and Yiyi murmured loudly: "They...they...kiss...me." Whenever this happened, I always wanted to record his romantic and funny appearance, but it didn't take long , he could pronounce clearly, and I forever missed that lost stage of growth that was worth keeping on tape so we could watch it over and over again.For months, we couldn't get Crowe to take off his Superman pajamas.He'd run around the house with Superman's red cape fluttering behind him, and he'd yell, "I'm Superman!" Another missed moment worth capturing.
A child is the impossible-to-ignore timepiece in front of you, making you aware that one's life is relentlessly and continuously racing through what may seem to be endless minutes, hours, and hours. The vast ocean of time formed by days, years and months.Our little boy is growing faster than we'd like, which is why just a year after we moved to our new home in Polkadot, we're trying to conceive our third child.Like I said to Jenny: "Hey, we now have four bedrooms; so why not have another baby?" Neither of us would admit that we wanted a girl, but of course we did. Yes, absolutely, despite the proclamation we spread during pregnancy: having three boys would be wonderful.When an ultrasound scan finally confirmed our secret hope, Jenny wrapped her arms around my shoulders and whispered, "I'm so happy that I can give you Brought a little girl." And I was just as happy as she was.
Not all of our friends share our enthusiasm.Most of them asked the same blunt question upon news of our pregnancy: "What do you mean?" They just couldn't believe that this third pregnancy wasn't an accident.If the pregnancy wasn't an accident, as we insisted, then they would have to question our decision.A question from an acquaintance, whose questioning even made me wish I could beat her up as punishment, is best reserved for someone who has just signed all her worldly possessions to Guyana (South America). A country in the Northeast) the pagan people are fine.She asked bluntly, "What are you guys thinking?"
We don't mind if people don't understand or disagree.On January 9, 1997, Jenny brought me a belated Christmas present—a pink-cheeked, seven-pound baby girl we named Colleen.Only now does our family feel truly complete.If giving birth to Crowe was a series of stress and anxiety, this pregnancy is a perfect example in the textbook, and the delivery experience at the community hospital in Boca Raton gave us a sense of customer satisfaction. A whole new level of accommodating, even pampering: There's a lounge with a free cappuccino drink station that you can drink as much as you want.Polkadot is so good!When the baby was finally born, I could barely keep my hands still to cut the baby's umbilical cord because of the caffeine in my system.
When Colleen was a week old, Jenny took her outside for the first time.It was a clear day with beautiful views, and my two boys and I were planting flowers in the front yard.Marley was chained to a nearby tree, and he lay happily in the shade, gazing out at the world outside.Jenny sat on the grass next to him, the carrycot with sleeping Colleen on the ground between her and Marley.After a few minutes, the boys waved to their mother, asking her to come over and see their handiwork.While Colleen dozed in the shade next to Marley, Patrick and Crowe led Jenny and me around the flower beds.We wandered behind the big bushes, from where we could still see Colleen, but passers-by on the street couldn't see us.As we turned back, I stopped and motioned for Jenny to look out through the bushes.On the street, an older couple passing by suddenly stopped their footsteps and stared blankly at our front yard with a puzzled expression.At first I wasn't sure exactly what made them stop and gaze out over our yard.Then it occurred to me: from their vantage point, all they could see was a fragile newborn alone with a big yellow dog that looked Independently undertook the heavy responsibility of looking after the baby.
We stayed where we were, without making a sound, trying to suppress the urge to laugh.Marley, who looks like an Egyptian sphinx, is lying under the shade of a tree with his front paws crossed, his head tilted up, panting contentedly, and bringing his muzzle close to sniff every few seconds. Baby's little head.The poor couple must have thought they had stumbled upon a serious crime of child neglect.There is no doubt that the parents of the child are drunk in some bar at this moment, leaving their baby alone with a Labrador retriever who is watching every minute of the day. baby.As if he was hatching a plot, Marley rested his chin on the belly of the little baby, whose head was bigger than her entire body, and let out a long sigh that seemed to say : "When the hell are those two irresponsible guys coming home?" He seemed to be protecting her, and maybe he was, although I was pretty sure he was just sniffing her diaper It's just a taste.
Jenny and I stood in the bushes, smiling at each other.We couldn't help laughing at the thought of Marley being mistaken by them for a babysitter—a dog sitter.I'd love to stay put and wait and see how this scene plays out.But then it occurred to me that this episode might trigger a 911 call.At that time, although we can carry Colleen away and hide in the covered aisle, how should we explain all this? ("Okay, I know this looks weird, officer, but this dog is actually surprisingly responsible...") So we hurried out of the bushes, waved to the couple, Then watch the look of relief on their faces - thank goodness the little baby wasn't left to the dogs.
"You must trust your dog very much." The woman said cautiously, hiding her true thoughts against her will—dogs are ferocious and unpredictable, and they should not be allowed so close to a defenseless man. newborn.
"He hasn't eaten a baby yet," I teased.
A month after Colleen was born, I celebrated my fortieth birthday alone, in the most inauspicious way possible.The four suffix should be an important turning point, the stage in your life when you bid farewell to the restless youth and embrace the predictable and comfortable middle age.If ever there was a birthday to celebrate, it would be forty, but that wasn't the case for me.We are now responsible parents of three children; Jenny now has another baby to feed.So there are more important things to worry about.When I got home from get off work, Jenny was exhausted.After a quick meal of scraps, Jenny nursed Colleen while I bathed the boys before putting them to bed.By 8:30, all three children were asleep, and my wife was too tired to fall asleep.That's when I open a can of beer and sit on the alfresco dining area, gazing at the glistening blue water of the swimming pool.And then Marley was always faithfully by my side, and as I scratched his ear it occurred to me that he was at the same turning point in his life.We brought him into our home six years ago.In a dog's years, a dog's six years is equivalent to a human's forty years.Unconsciously, he also entered the middle-aged stage, but his behavior still maintained the state of a puppy.Except for one persistent ear infection that required constant intervention from Dr. Jay, he remained in good health.He showed no signs of aging.I've never looked up to Marley as a role model of any kind, but as I sit here with a beer, I realize that maybe he has a secret to staying in good shape.Never slowing down, never going backwards, living each day with teenage energy, grit, curiosity and playfulness.If you think you're still a young puppy, then you just might be able to be a young puppy, no matter what the calendar says.There's no such thing as a bad philosophy of life, though I'll experience ruined couches and laundry rooms.
"Okay, man," I said, pressing my beer bottle against his cheek as a gesture of toasting, "it's just you and me tonight. For our forties, for our middle ages, Cheers to our friendship forever!" Then, he also curled up and fell asleep.
A few days later, when Jim Tolbin, my old colleague who had forced Marley to get over his bad habit of jumping on people, called unexpectedly and asked if I wanted to When I went out for a drink on Saturday night, I was still reeling from the depression caused by spending my birthday alone.Around the same time we moved to Boca Raton, Jim left journalism to pursue a law degree, so we didn't speak for months. "Of course." I said, but I didn't think about why he invited me to drink in my head.Jim picked me up in his car at six o'clock and took me to an English pub where we drank and told each other the joys and sorrows of life.We drank heartily until the barman yelled, "Is John Gerrogan in? There's a call for John Gerrogan."
It was Jenny calling, and she sounded sad, as if she had collapsed from the stress. "Boys are crying and crying uncontrollably and I just tore my contact lenses!" she wailed on the phone. "Can you come home right away?"
"Try to calm down first," I said, "I'll be right back." I hung up, and the barman nodded at me, and said, "My sympathies, buddy." But, from his From his expression, I can read his true thoughts at the moment: "You poor fellow who fears guilt."
"Come on," said Jim, "I'll drive you home."
When we turned into the block where I lived, we found cars parked on both sides of the street. "Someone's having a party," I said.
"Looks like it," replied Jim.
"For God's sake," I said when we got to the front of the house, "look! Someone even pulled over in my driveway. He's pretty gutsy."
I intended to block the offender, and urged Jim to join in the containment.When the front door opened, I was still plotting how to get my hands on this inconsiderate stupid guy who parked in my driveway.I saw Jenny standing on the porch, holding Colleen in her arms.She didn't seem to be showing any signs of sadness at all.In fact, she had a sweet smile on her face.Behind her stands an organist in a kilt. "My God! How am I going to get in there?" Then, looking over the organist, I saw that someone had lowered the fence around the swimming pool and had placed many floating candles on the water, on the terrace. Packed with dozens of my friends, neighbors and colleagues.Just when I was beginning to realize that the cars parked on the street belonged to the people who were in my house right now, they yelled in unison, "Happy birthday, old man!"
Turns out my wife hadn't forgotten my birthday at all.
When I was finally able to close my gaping jaw, I pulled Jenny into my arms, kissed her on the cheek, and whispered in her ear, "After the party, I want you."
A guest opened the door of the laundry room to find a trash can, and freed Marley from being locked in the laundry room.He jumped out of the laundry room, joined the party quickly, and showed a great talent for turning the party into a frenzy in a short time.He weaves through the crowd, steals a mozzarella appetizer from a plate, lifts a woman's miniskirt with his snout, and prepares to jump into an unfenced swimming pool for a break.Before he could get into his trademark belly-first dive, I grabbed him and dragged him back to the laundry room to continue his unfortunate journey of solitary confinement. "Don't worry," I said, "I'll leave some leftovers for you."
Not long after the party that surprised me—and it was such a success, because it actually drew a police visit at midnight asking us to be quiet—Marley’s response to the thunderstorm That intense fear was finally confirmed.It was a very dark Sunday afternoon, and I had dug up a rectangle of grass in my backyard for another vegetable garden.Gardening became a very serious hobby of mine, and the better I got at it, the more motivated I became.Slowly, my reclamation area covered the entire backyard.As I worked, Marley jogged nervously around me, his internal barometer sensing an impending storm.And I feel it too, but I want to be able to accomplish my goals, and I guess I can get the job done before the rain hits.However, at this moment, I felt the first drop of rain falling on the top of my head.As I dug, I kept scanning the sky and noticed an ominous black thunderstorm anvil forming about a few miles to the east on the horizon.Marley whined softly, beckoning me to put down the shovel and hurry back inside. "Relax," I told him, "the black clouds are miles away."
Barely before I could blur the words out, I felt an unknown premonition, a tingling tingling in the back of my neck.The sky had turned into a peculiar darkness of olive gray, and the air seemed to suddenly become lifeless, as if some mysterious force had grabbed the wind and froze it in the palm of his hand. "This is so bizarre," I thought, pausing what I was doing, before leaning on the shovel and studying the sky.Then I heard it: a hum, thump, crackle of a tumbling force, similar to the kind you can hear when you're standing under a high-voltage power line.The sound filled the air around me, followed by a brief moment of utter silence.In that split second, I knew trouble was coming, but I didn't have time to react.Suddenly the sky was pure and blindingly white, and then an explosion rumbled in my ears in a way I've never heard before in any storm, during any pyrotechnic display, An explosion sound that has never been heard in any blasting site.A wall of energy crashed into my chest, as if an invisible defender had crashed into me.I don't know how long it took before I finally opened my eyes and found that the shovel was ten steps away from me, and the raindrops were hitting me in a hurry.Marley was also on the ground, in a knocked-out position, and when he saw me raise my head, he crawled and wriggled toward me in despair, like a soldier trying to slip through a barbed wire. like barbed wire.When he reached me, he climbed directly on my back, buried his muzzle in the dimple of my neck, and licked me like crazy.I looked around, trying to get my bearings, and I could see that the lightning had struck a utility pole around the corner of the yard, and the wire had fallen on a house about twenty feet away from where I had been standing.The electric meter on the wall has also been burned out.
"Come on!" I yelled, and Marley and I stood up, and we sprinted toward the back door in the pouring rain as a new bolt of lightning streaked across the sky.We didn't stop until we were safely inside the house.I knelt on the floor, soaking wet, panting violently, while Marley climbed on top of me, licking my face, nibbling my ears, shaking the drool and dog hair all over the place.Frenzied with terror, he was shaking uncontrollably, with drool hanging from his jaw.I hugged him in my arms and tried to calm him down. "It's all right!" I said, realizing that I too was shaking.He looked at me with those big eyes that were so powerful, I could have sworn they could almost talk.I knew very well what he was trying to tell me. "I've been trying to warn you all these years that this stuff will kill you. But who heard my warning? Now you won't say I'm making a fuss, will you?"
The dog is right.Perhaps his fear of thunderstorms was not so irrational.Perhaps his frenzy at the first rumble from afar was his way of telling us that Florida's most terrifying and violent thunderstorm across the country isn't something to just shrug off. .Perhaps all those destroyed walls, chipped doors, and torn carpets were his way of trying to create a lightning-proof cavern in which we could all hide.And, how should we reward his warning?With blame and tranquilizers?
Our house was pitch black, and the air conditioner, ceiling fan, TV, and a few other things were all blown out.The circuit breaker was fused together.What a joy it would be if one of us were an electrician.But I am alive, and so is my trusted companion.Jenny and the three kids were safe in the family room sipping milk and didn't even know our house had been struck by lightning.We are all safe and sound, so what could be more important than that?I pulled Marley between my knees and promised him on the spot that I would never again ignore his fear of the deadly forces of nature.
As a newspaper columnist, I'm always on the lookout for interesting and quirky stories that I can get my hands on.I write three columns a week, which means one of the biggest challenges of the job is constantly generating fresh topics.Every morning, I start the day with a quick glance at the four major South Florida newspapers, noting and clipping anything worth pondering and developing.The next job is to find a way or angle from which you can comment.My earliest columns were straight from news headlines.A speeding car filled with eight teenagers fell into a ditch at the edge of a swamp. The driver was a sixteen-year-old girl, her twin sister and the other children in the car. Another girl fled the car that was submerged in the ditch.This is a big event that I know I really want to be a part of, but how can I approach it from a fresh perspective?I drove to the spot where the car crashed, hoping to get some inspiration, and before I even pulled over, I found it.Classmates of the five teenagers who died in the crash have turned the sidewalk into a spray-painted canvas of eulogy.The eulogy written on the asphalt is half a mile long, and the natural emotion that flows from these words can be seen at a glance.Notebook in hand, I began to transcribe the words. “Youth wasted,” read one eulogy, alongside a painted arrow pointing from the road to the water.Then, amidst these shared catharsis, I found it: a public apology written by the young motorist, Temir Bador.In capital letters with a circle underneath, she wrote, in a child's scrawled handwriting: "I hope it's me who's gone. I'm sorry." And so I got my column idea.
Not all topics are so dark and heavy.When a retiree received an eviction order from her condominium complex because her chubby puppy was over the pet weight limit, I jumped at the subject , went to visit the overweight pet that disgusted the other residents.When a somewhat confused elderly citizen tried to park his car and crashed his car into a store, luckily no one was hurt in the incident, I followed the incident, along with the witnesses There was a conversation.This job makes me camp out every day as if I were carrying a mobile tent.Today a millionaire mansion, tomorrow a downtown street corner.I like the variety; I like the people I meet; and what I like most is the near-absolute freedom this job affords me. to wherever you want.
What my bosses didn't know was that, behind my journalism prowling around, was a secret agenda: use my status as a columnist to produce as many news stories as possible. Shameless, obvious "working holiday".My motto is: "When the columnist is having fun, the readers are having fun." Why go to a dreary pub when you can sit at an outdoor bar with a big beer in hand? What about the tax-adjustment hearings as fodder for the column?If anyone had to do the hard work of telling the story of a missing salt shaker, it was probably me.I'll find any reason to spend a day loafing around in shorts and a T-shirt, trying out all kinds of leisure and entertainment that I'm sure the public needs someone to investigate thoroughly.Every profession has its professional tools, and mine includes a reporter's notebook, a bundle of pens, and a beach towel.I started to take sunscreen and a pair of swimming trunks with me in the car as a habit.
I spent a day wandering the swamps on an airboat and another day hiking the shores of Lake Okeechobee.I cycled all day on the scenic A1A along the Atlantic coast so I could get my hands on the excruciatingly painful topic of sharing the pavement with bewildered young people with colorfully dyed hair and distracted tourists first-hand reports.I spent a day snorkeling, avoiding those reefs, and snorkeling underwater; I spent a day at a shooting range, depleting all the clips in a pistol, with a man who swore he would never A twice-robbed victim who would fall prey again; one day I lolled on a toll fishing boat; another day I mingled with a gang of aging rock musicians.One day I climbed a tree and sat for hours just to enjoy the solitude; a real estate developer planned to bulldoze the grove I was sitting in right now, and make it The lofty goal of housing development gets out of the way, and I guess the least I can do is to give a decent funeral to this last remnant corner of nature in the concrete urban jungle.When I convinced my editor to send me to the Bahamas, claiming that I could be on the front line of a hurricane brewing toward South Florida, I made my biggest astute quest ever. Strategy.The hurricane diverted harmlessly toward the sea, so I spent three days in a luxury hotel by the beach, sipping pineapple juice leisurely under blue skies.
And my idea of taking Marley to the beach for a day is also in the vein of this investigative journalism.South Florida is so overused up and down the coastline that municipalities in every city have banned pets from their beaches, and for very good reason.The last thing beachgoers want is a wet, sand-covered dog pissing around while they sunbathe.On almost every beach, there are signs that prohibit pets.
However, there is one other place, a small, less well-known beach, that has no similar signs.There are no restrictions or prohibitions for four-legged sea lovers.Tucked away within the boundaries of unrecognized self-governing Palm Beach County, about halfway between West Palm Beach and Boca Raton, the beach stretches for a few hundred yards, tucked away at the end of a dead-end street. below the green sand dunes.There are no parking lots, no lounges, no lifeguards, just an unregulated white sand beach.For years, the beach's reputation has been passed down by pet owners as South Florida's last safe haven where dogs can frolic on the waves without risking a fine.There is no official name for this place, but folks call it "Dog Beach".
Dog Beach operates by its unwritten rules, which have evolved several times, initially by the unanimous consent of the frequent dog owners, and then added a series of moral principles such as no excessive noise .Dog owners take care of the policing themselves, so that others don't punish violators with humiliating glares and, if necessary, obscenities.The rules are simple and not many: Aggressive dogs cannot be off the leash; all other dogs are free to play off the leash.Owners carry plastic bags with them to pick up their dog's waste.All trash, including dog waste wrapped in plastic bags, is carted away.Every dog should come here with plenty of fresh water.The most important of the remaining rules is that the seawater must never be polluted.This rule requires owners to take their dogs for a walk along the sand dunes, away from the edge of the sea, when they first arrive, until their pets have resolved their own internal urgency, and then they can put their waste into containers. Put it into a plastic bag, and went safely into the sea water.
I had heard of Dog Beach but never visited.Now, I have a great reason.This fast-disappearing remnant of old Florida, which existed before the advent of condominium towers in the Marina District, metered beach parking lots and skyrocketing real estate, will be in the papers.A county commissioner, who advocates for the positive values of development, has begun protesting the unregulated beach and asking why the same rules that apply to beaches in other counties don't apply here.She made her intentions clear: to outlaw hairy domestic animals on the beach, thereby opening up this valuable resource to more people.
I immediately locked onto this story: the perfect excuse to turn what should have been a corporate day into a day at the beach.On a fine July morning, I traded my tie and briefcase for swimming trunks and flip-flops and took Marley across the Intracoastal Waterway to Dog Beach.I put all the beach towels I could find in the car - just for the drive, because I knew Marley would be the way he always was, with his tongue hanging out of his mouth and drool everywhere.I felt like I was on a road trip with a best friend.My only regret is that there is no windshield inside.
Following dog beach etiquette, I parked a few blocks away from the beach, where there would be no parking ticket, and began walking through a park full of buildings built in the 60's. A block of bungalows in the 1980s, Marley excitedly rushed ahead.大约在中途位置，一个嘶哑的声音叫喊起来：“嗨，狗伙计！”我愣在那儿，相信自己一定是被一位想要警告我别让这只该死的狗靠近他的海滩的愤怒的邻居给逮到了。可是，这个声音却是属于另一位宠物主人的，他带着他那只拴有皮带的个头很大的狗赶上了我，并且递给了我一张要求县委员们让狗海滩继续存在下去的签名请愿书。谈到狗海滩的存留问题，我们便站在那儿聊起天来，可是，马利与另外一只狗却正在相互绕着圈，我知道，仅仅再过只几秒钟，他们便可能会爆发一场致命的搏斗，又或者开始成为亲密的一家人。我将马利猛地拉开到一旁，然后继续我们的远足。就在我们到达了通往海滩的小径时，马利却在草地里蹲坐了下来，然后便开始了对其肠胃的清理工作。very good.至少这一社交上的谨慎不会再碍事了。我将证据用塑料袋包好，然后说道：“到海滩上去吧！”
当我们到达沙丘的顶峰时，我吃惊地看到有几个人正带着他们那脖颈上拴有皮带的狗在浅水域里面跋涉着。How is this going?我期待的是狗不受拘束地在沙滩上自由奔跑着，一派彼此融洽的场景。 “一位县治安官的代理人刚好在这儿，”一位神情阴郁的狗主人向我解释说，“他说从现在开始他们将执行县里有关给狗拴上皮带的法令，如果我们的狗被解开了皮带的话，我们就会遭受罚款。”看来，我来太晚了，无法完全享受狗海滩原有的那种简单的快乐了。警察们，毫无疑问作为了在政治上与反对狗海滩相联系的推动力量，正束紧了这个套索。我顺从地带着马利，与其他的狗主人们一起沿着水边走着，觉得自己更像是在一个监狱里放风，而不是行走在南佛罗里达最后一片不受管制的海滩上。
我带着马利回到了我的浴巾旁，当沙丘那边走过来一个上身赤裸、刺有纹身、穿着毛边的蓝布牛仔裤以及工作长靴的男人时，我正从水壶里给马利倒一碗清水，在那个男人的身边，有一只脖子上拴着沉重的铁链、肌肉发达、看上去十分凶猛的美洲嚣犬（一种杂种犬，通常有短白色的毛、尖而细长的鼻子，产于英格兰，是喇叭狗与一种预已绝迹的狗杂交而得的）。美洲嚣犬以其勇猛好斗而闻名，而且，在南佛罗里达的这个时节里它们尤其声名狼藉的。它们是帮派分子、暴徒、恶棍们选择的狗种，而且经常被训练来为非作歹。报纸上满是无缘无故便遭到美洲嚣犬攻击的案例，有时候它们甚至会对人类以及动物发起致命的攻击。那位狗主人一定注意到了我的畏缩，因为他叫喊道：“你不要担心。杀手是友好的。他从来不会与其他的狗打斗。”我才刚刚缓了一口气，他却非常骄傲补充了一句，“可是，你应该看看他是如何将一头野公猪给撕得粉碎的！我告诉你，他可以将野公猪扑倒在地，然后，在大约十五秒钟的时间之内就将其内脏给取了出来。”
马利和那只名叫“杀手”的美洲嚣犬，相互盯着对方的皮带，转着圈，狂暴地嗅着彼此。马利在其一生当中还从来没有与其他的狗开战过，而且，由于他比大多数其他的狗的个头都要大，以致于他也从来没有受到过一次挑战的胁迫。甚至当一只狗尝试着去挑起一场格斗的时候，他都没有表现出任何要应战的迹象。他只是采取一种嬉闹的姿势，用头顶撞着对方，尾巴摇摆着，脸上流露出一个钝钝的、开心的咧嘴微笑。但是，他以前从来没有面对过一只经过了专门训练、名叫“杀手”的并且名实相符的狗。我想像着杀手将会防不胜防地朝马利的喉咙猛扑过去，然后就不会放开对方了。但是杀手的主人对此却并不担心。“除非你是一头野公猪，他才会将你置之死地的。”他说道。
我告诉他说警察刚刚还在这儿，准备给那些不遵守皮带法令的人们开罚单。“我猜想他们会严厉禁止解开狗的皮带的行为。”
“胡说八道！”他叫喊道，然后朝沙子里面吐了一口唾沫，“我带着我的狗来这个海滩已经好几年了。你在狗海滩是不需要皮带的。胡说八道！”说完，他便松开了沉重的铁链，于是杀手飞奔着穿过沙滩，然后跳入了海水之中。马利用后腿站立起来，一上一下地跳跃着。他看着杀手，然后又抬头看着我。他回头看看杀手，然后又回过头来看看我。他的爪子紧张地按在沙滩上，然后，他发出了一声柔软的、持续的呜咽。如果他能够说话的话，我知道他将会问什么。我扫视了一下沙丘：视野中并没有看见一个警察。我看着马利，他的眼神正在说：“求你了！求你了！求你了！我会好好的。我保证。”
“去吧，把他放开吧，”杀手的主人说道，“一只狗不应该在绳索的束缚之下度过一生。”
“哦，好吧。”我说道，然后松开了皮带。马利朝着海水猛冲过去，由于他起跑时用力过猛，所以把沙子踢了我们一身。当一个浪花涌过来的时候，他的身体与海浪相撞了，结果淹没在了海水之下。一秒钟之后，他的头再次浮现出了海面，在他重新站起身的那一瞬间，他的身体又碰巧堵住了“杀手”的去路，于是他们两个都被撞到了。他们在波浪下面一起滚动着，于是我屏住了呼吸，想知道马利是否越过了界限，从而使“杀手”进入到杀气腾腾、屠杀拉布拉多犬的狂怒之中。可是，当他们再次将脑袋探出水面的时候，他们的尾巴摇摆着，他们咧着嘴笑着。“杀手”跳到了马利的背上，然后马利也跳到了“杀手”的背上，他们的下颚嬉闹地夹在对方的喉咙周围。他们在水线上互相追逐着，散落的狗毛飞溅到了他们彼此的身上。他们后腿立地腾跃起来，他们跳着舞，他们摔着跤，他们潜入水中。我认为我以前从来没有，从那以后也再没有目睹过如此没有掺入任何的杂质、如此纯粹的快乐了。
其他的狗主人们也纷纷效仿了我的做法，很快，所有的狗，大约共有十二只，全部都自由地奔跑在海滩上了。这些狗全都相处得十分融洽；主人们也全都遵循着规则。此刻的狗海滩，真正名实相符了。这才是真正的佛罗里达，没有瑕疵，没有检查，一个被遗忘的、更为简单时空的佛罗里达，不再受一味追求发展进步的约束。
只有一个小小的问题：整个上午马利都一直在舔着海水。我带着盛有淡水的碗跟在他的身后，可是他的注意力实在是太过分散，以致于没有顾到去饮用淡水。好几次我都将他拖回到了水碗边，然后将他的鼻子摁进水碗里面，可是他却对于淡水不屑一顾，仿佛碗中盛着的是醋一样，他一心想着回到他新交的好朋友“杀手”以及其他的狗的身边去。
在浅水域里面，他暂停了一会儿玩乐，舔进了更多的海水。“别喝了，你这只大笨狗，”我冲他叫喊道，“你这样会让自己……”我还没来得及说完，不幸的事情便发生了。他的眼睛里闪现出了一种奇怪的色彩，然后，一种可怕的声音开始从他的五脏六腑里喷涌而出。他将背部高高拱起，他的嘴巴一开一合了好几次，好像试图从胃部清理某些东西。他的肩膀抬了起来，他的腹部扭动着。我匆忙说完了自己的句子：“呕吐的。”
就在“呕吐”这个单词刚刚从我的唇边吐出来的那一瞬间，马利便兑现了我的预言，成了这片狗海滩最后的离经叛道者。
我跑过去想将他从水中拖上岸，可是，已经太迟了。所有的东西都吐了出来。我可以看见昨天晚上的狗食漂浮在水面上，令人吃惊的是，它们看上去仍像是还没有被吃进肚子里面之前的状态。在那些呕吐物当中随着海水上下飘动的，是他从小孩的餐盘中所偷走的没有消化的玉米粒，还有一个牛奶壶的盖子以及一个塑料士兵玩具的那颗小小的严肃的脑袋。整个排泄过程没有超过三秒钟，就在他的胃部被清空了的那一瞬间，他便兴高采烈地抬起头来看着我，看上去没有任何的后续影响而已经彻底恢复了，他仿佛在说：“既然我已经不需要再被照顾了，那么有谁想来个人体冲浪么？”我紧张地扫视了一下周围，可是似乎没有人注意到刚才的一幕。其他的狗主人都正在遥远的海滩上忙着与他们的狗一起玩耍，不远处的一位母亲则专注于帮助她那学步的孩子堆着一个沙塔，几位分散在海滩上的晒着日光浴的人正闭目养神仰天躺着。“感谢上帝！”我心里想道，然后便费力地跋涉到马利的呕吐物的地带，尽可能用脚拨动着海水以便将罪证疏散开来。“万一被发现了的话，那该会是多么尴尬啊！”无论如何，我告诉自己说，尽管在技术上违背了狗海滩的第一规则，可是我们并没有造成真正的危害。毕竟，这些只是没有消化的食物而已；海中的鱼儿应该感谢我们所送来的这一餐，不是吗？我甚至捡起了牛奶壶盖以及士兵的脑袋，然后将它们放进了我的口袋里面。
“你给我听着，”我严厉地说道，一把抓起了他的口鼻部，强迫他看着我的眼睛，“不许再喝海水了。什么样的狗才会糊涂到要去不停地喝海水呢？”我想将他拉回海滩，提前结束我们的这次冒险旅程，可是他现在看上去已经完全没事了。他的胃部里面不可能还留有没有被清理掉的东西了。损害已经结束了，我们可以在不被察觉的情况之下继续享受这难得的休闲时光。于是我放开了马利，他飞奔着跑向了海滩，急着与“杀手”重聚。
我没有能够周密地考虑到的是，尽管马利的胃部已经彻底清空了，可是他的肠子却没有。水面上折射着刺目的太阳光，我半眯着眼睛，看到马利正在其他的狗当中嬉戏玩闹着。当我注视着他的时候，只见他突然脱离了玩乐的队伍，开始在浅水域转着小圈。我很清楚他这种转圈的动机。这是他每天早上准备排粪之前在后院里面所做的事情。这是他的例行公事，仿佛他在寻找着某个可以让他安放这个他给世界的礼物的地方。有时候，当他寻找着地上的一块完美的地点时，这种转圈会持续一分钟甚至更长时间。而现在，他正在狗海滩的浅水域中转着圈子，在这片以前还没有一只狗胆敢在这里排便的神圣疆界中转着圈子。现在，他已经进入到了蹲坐的姿势。这一次，他有了观众。“杀手”的父亲以及几个其他的狗主人正站在离他几码远的地方。那位母亲和她的女儿已经将视线从她们的沙塔转移到了海滩上。一对手牵着手在海边漫步的夫妇也凑近了过来。“不，”我低声说道，“求你了，我的上帝，不要。”
“嗨！”某个人叫了起来，“管管你的狗！”
“制止他！”又有一个人叫喊道。
当这些惊恐的声音叫喊起来的时候，那几个晒着日光浴的人支撑起了身体，想去看看究竟发生了什么样的骚动。
我立马弹跳了起来，飞奔着跑向马利，可是已经太晚了。如果我能够在他的肠子开始蠕动之前就赶到他的身边，将蹲坐着的他拉离海滩的话，我或许就可以中断这场糟糕的奇耻大辱了，至少我还有时间带他安全地撤离到沙丘附近。当我朝着马利跑去的时候，我终于体会到了什么叫做魂不附体的滋味了。甚至当我跑着的时候，我从上往下看过去，这一场景突然呈现出了一幅凝固的画面。每一脚的迈出都是如此沉重，每一脚踏在沙滩上，都发出了一声钝钝的、沉闷的声响。我的手臂一前一后地摆动着，我的脸因一种充满歉意的痛苦表情而扭曲着。在我奔跑的时候，我捕捉到了我周围的慢动作画面：一位年轻的晒日光浴的女士，一只手按在胸前，另一只手则捂住了她那因惊讶而大张着的嘴巴；那位母亲将她的孩子一把抱了起来，赶紧从海边撤退回来；狗主人们的面部因为厌恶而扭曲了，纷纷用手指指点点；“杀手”的父亲，他那坚韧的颈部凸了出来，大声叫喊着。马利已经结束了转圈，此刻正进入到完全的蹲坐姿势，他抬头看着天空，似乎正在说着几句祷文。然后，我听到我自己的声音盖过了周遭的喧嚣，从喉咙深处发出一种奇特的、刺耳的、扭曲的、持久的尖叫：“不不不不不不不不！”
我差不多已经到达了那儿，离他仅一步之遥。“马利，不要！”我尖声叫喊道，“不要，马利，不要！不！不！不！”但是这些叫喊完全只是一种徒劳。就在我抓住他的时候，他爆发出了一阵稀哩哗啦的急速腹泻。每个人都往后跳去，畏缩着，向更高的地方逃去。主人们一把抓住了自己的狗，纷纷撤离。晒日光浴的人们一把捡起了他们的浴巾。然后，腹泻结束了。马利从水里快步跑上了海滩，分外开心地抖着身体，然后转过身来看着我，快乐地喘着气。我从口袋里掏出了一个塑料袋，无助地将它举到了空中。我能够立即看出，此时此刻，塑料袋已经于事无补了。海浪涌了过来，将马利留下的一团肮脏的东西散播到了海水中，又冲刷在了沙滩上。
“纨绔子弟，”“杀手”的父亲用一种使我能够充分体会到的野公猪在“杀手”最后致命一扑的那一瞬间的感受的声音说道，“这一点儿也不酷。”
是的，这的确一点儿也不酷。马利和我已经违反了狗海滩的神圣规则。我们污染了海水，不是一次，而是两次，毁掉了海滩上所有人的早晨。现在是迅速撤退的时候了。
“很抱歉，”当我抓住马利的皮带时，我对“杀手”的主人含糊地咕哝道，“他喝了太多的海水。”
回到汽车里之后，我将一条毛巾扔到了马利身上，然后用力地将他彻底擦洗干净。我越擦，他摇摆得越是厉害，不久，我浑身上下就沾满了沙子、水花以及狗毛。我想冲他发火。我想掐死他。可是，现在已经太迟了。而且，有谁在喝了两加仑的海水之后不会呕吐呢？在他所犯下的诸多罪行当中，这一件并非是蓄意的或者有预谋的。这并不是他不服从命令或者有意要让我蒙羞。他仅仅只是喝了太多的海水，结果才导致呕吐以及拉肚子的。是的，在错误的地点以及错误的时间里，而且是当着这么多的人的面。我知道他也是一个受害者，是他自己那逐渐降低的心智能力的受害者。他是整片沙滩上唯一一个愚笨到会去狂饮海水的动物。这只狗存在着智商以及行为上的缺陷。我怎么可以为此去责备他呢？
“你不必看上去这么开心。”当我将他安顿在后座上的时候，我对他说道。可是，他仍然分兴高采烈。如果我把他带到了他自己的加勒比岛的话，他也不可能像现在这般开心的。他所不知道的是，这将是他最后一次接触海水了。他那作为一个海滩游民的日子——更准确的说是小时——已经永远地结束了。“好吧，带咸味的狗，”在驾车回家的途中我说道，“这一次你做了坏事。假如狗海滩从此禁止狗入内的话，我们知道那是为了什么。”狗海滩继续维持了几年时间，可是，最终我的上述预言还是不幸发生了。