The secret surf dog handshake. By 4th generation surf dog, doxie Doodle.

Dear Dog Diary:

Every single thing I’m gonna tell you really happened. Nothing’s made up. You couldn’t make this stuff up. What I didn’t see or live myself, I learned from my dog bro’s, my mom, my kitty sis or some other animal relative.  

I am Doodle, fourth generation Ayers family surf dog. The surf dog thing started long before me – almost 30 years ago - before dog surfing was even a sport – at Dog Beach in San Diego. Before surf dog contests were even invented.

Doxie Doodle here - Gen X of the Surf Dog Diaries. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

My dog mom Barb Ayers and my basset bro’s made that scene in So Cal and came home with prizes for dog surfing.

Our family surf dog hang 20 legacy was handed down, dog to dog – from Howdy to Elvis to Dude and to me. I came along in January 2012, the first doxie of the pack. I did my first surf dog contest a year later.

These are our Surf Dog Diaries, memoir stories - all real life, not fiction, not a novel - but totally novel. We are a pack of rescue dogs who found our way from sadness to surfing.

But Diary - you need to overlook my writing skills. Typing skills.

My toes are too pointy and hairy for typing. Lip flapping - talking - is for you dog people. I’m not a verbal guy. 

Cat threatens to take over the Dog Blog. HELP!!!! Photo (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

I speak with body. My spine. My nose. My actions. My heart.

I had a little help with the writing part.

Our surf dog story is about finding your way in a world that has totally changed.

About being changed.

Big, blaring cities with wall-to-wall houses, where no one knows each other any more.  That’s why we escaped to a dinky dog town in the Pacific Northwest.

Me on one of my favorite dog beaches in the Gorge. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

We moved from Dog Beach, California to Dog River, Oregon a decade ago.

Back in Cali, beaches crowded with too many towels and tourists. Houses three feet apart sell for a million bucks. The 3-feet-apart part is why everyone hangs at Dog Beach. It’s like San Diego’s national park for surfers, dogs and dog people. Home of Mother Ocean - our old friend.

Our other old friend, San Diego River, the first river of California, is now penned in, paved over - just a glinty tinkle along the I-8 freeway, with a trolley on top, on the way to the mall. River - she floods each year, stealing back parking spaces from Fashion Valley, on her way to Dog Beach. In San Diego, being one with nature meant watching River overflow in big rains – dumping yucky stuff into Ocean at our favorite beach.

Or going to that famous zoo or safari park my mom worked for. Or camping in the desert. Or escaping across the Mexico border, surfing in Baja – which is still sleepy and old school, how US beaches used to look.

Hang 70 - Surf Dog Diaries riders - and writers. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

That's when our pack started taking surfing safaris. And ended up in the Columbia Gorge National Scenic Area.

We love life in small town America - Hood River, Oregon. Mosier, White Salmon, Parkdale, Stevenson, and other dixky-doxie-sized towns in the Gorge.

So Cali’s - we love you guys, but there were just too many of you any more.

Along the way, by hanging 20 toes on the nose of a surfboard, we found love and joy and and home and family and meaning.

We are living proof that dogs and people rescue each other every day. Together, we ride the ups and downs, the waves of life. Together, we surf.

These are the secret Surf Dog Diaries. Moments between moments.

Melting hearts of grownups, who've outgrown the magic of life. That’s our #1 job as rescue dogs. As kids.

Inside all of that grownup human species tough talk, is a little puppy. Sometimes with all the talk, you people just miss out on the best parts of life. I’m pretty convinced that’s exactly why dogs don’t talk.

Copy editor Tia takes over. Things could get weird. Photo (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

We need each other - extroverts and introverts. People and puppies. Parents and kids. Windsurfers, surfers and SUPpers (stand up paddleboarders.) Grand dogs and seniors. “Domesticated” dogs, feral and wild child friends. People in small towns and big cities all over the world.

My thing is body language - not human blah blah blah words in the air.

Meaningful looks. Heavy sighs. Toes touching mom's on a surfboard ride.  A gentle lick on the hand when you need it most. Long leaners - your whole bod smashed against hers, solid and reliable. Thoughtful butt sniffing. Wild bunny chasing dreams on hardwood floors on a cold winter night. Camping snores in the middle of nowhere. Farts. Big dog hearts.

Somehow in our fam, that magically evolved into dogs hanging 20 toes on a surfboard together.

For years, I rode with my mom and my two dog bro’s - all four of us on board. Hang 70!

I am a carry on bag dog - flying through air - something none of my brothers could do.

I even tried surfing with a cat once. Well, that was just weird.

These are our stories.

Come on inside.

Circle around a couple of times - find just the right spot and plop down on the rug.  

Sit. Stay.

For the secret surf dog handshake.



Doodle

I'm worried about my big brown friend. I'm worried about surgery Thursday.

This is Klaus, my big brown friend.

This is his signature Zen brown dog deep thoughts by Klaus pose.

I love Klaus. He's a big, brown happy-go-lucky guy. With a big dog smile and a big warm heart- always happy to see you on the trail.

But Klaus is really getting old. His coat is changing from brown to yellow. I'm really worried about him. He can't do all the things he loves to do anymore.

That's the only thing I don't like about being a dog. The 7:1 dog rule. Every year, dogs get seven years older. Who made up that stupid rule? Can we please change it?

Big and brown. Size, shape and color

When Klaus' mom Carole adopted him as a puppy at the shelter, the sign said he was good with cats and would grow up to be a medium size brown dog. So they took him home -medium was just right.

But.... turns out, he takes up the entire back seat!!  You have to fold down BOTH seats to make him fit! He is Huge. Not even a little bit medium.

Not that size matters. Except when it comes to heart.

Color matters - in a thank God we're not all the same kind of way. All of my friends have color.

                                                                                                              Eloise and Klaus    Photo (c): Barb Ayers DogDiary.org

Headstrong women

Speaking of not being dull... Klaus has a sister - Eloise - she is headstrong. In a good way. She just can't stand being on a leash.

                                                                                                               Photo (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

That just could be the new definition of headstrong. I'd call my mom headstrong and she doesn't wear a leash either.

Meanwhile, Klaus is always so Chill.

The friends we make - the crap that happens....

Klaus and I love walking our favorite trail in our home town, Mosier, OR in the Columbia River Gorge. The most amazing place on Earth.

Right next to that spot where, a year and a half ago, the oil train derailed.

Point is, crap happens.

Me and Klaus on the trail in our hometown- Mosier, Oregon     Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

We're on the journey together. The ups and downs. The ride of life. Not every moment is perfect.

I am having surgery this week. They are removing a tumor from my head. I'll be in a cone of shame for several weeks. So, you may not see much of me for a while. I'll do my best to write and tell you how it's going, but mom is a total wreck. Even though she's headstrong. 

We had a rough vet year last year, after losing my two old dog bros within months of each other. I'm only 6.5 (45 in dog years) - it's not time for me to fall apart just yet. I was hoping to avoid the vet and old age altogether.

Whatever it is - we face it together.

Thanks for being there.

Doodle

Not exactly King of the Hook

There's one rule in windsurfing: don't leave wind to find wind.

So, yesterday it was hard to pack up the 7'11” Open Ocean short board and de rig the 3.7 Ezzy sail – while the wind still howled on classic 20-30mph Gorge windsurfing day. 

I left wind, pulled out a board longer than my car, and went back to the Hook, home of almost no wind. That place where beginners first learn to windsurf. Here in Hood River, Oregon, windsurf capital of the world.

Hood River's windsurfing learning pond - The Hook. Doodle and contestants at King of the Hook, August 12, 2017. This is our favorite low wind board, a Starboard that is a combo SUP/windsurf board.  Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

My dogs and I do this crazy old school windsurfing romp each year - King of the Hook, hosted by CGWA, Columbia Gorge Windsurfing Assn. We support our local non profit, dedicated to enhancing Gorge beach access, and bringing up the next windsurfing generation. I'm a proud board member.

King of the Hook style!    Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

Speaking of boards, King of the Hook is not your classic Gorge hotshot windsurfing freestyle contest – big moves, big winds, short boards, adoring fans, ego beach.

It’s all about long boards and old school freestyle and costumes and attitude. There's not a serious sailor in sight – but it attracts its share of hotshot young sailors. And people like me, who don't take themselves too seriously.

That's the official King of the Hook 2017 in the water, with his adoring fans.                Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

Doxie on 1987 Mistral Superlight - a still life.                                     Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org 

I have always been a believer in just showing up.

Being the best - winning - it's so over rated!

Doodle and I’ve got 'tude - but we don't got freestyle.

That is, unless a doxie on board and cherried-out costumes count as freestyle.

Our old school 1987 Mistral Superlight on the beach, a tribute to the early days of windsurfing. 

Dog River and Dog Mountain license plates on board - literally - hanging from the boom as we compete.

But we always come home with a prize. Everyone does!

Wardrobe and decoration malfunctions. Our Dog River / Dog Mountain license plates almost fell in the drink;  the cherry sprigs on my hat and Doodle's cherry booty bag caught on the sail when we tacked or jibed. And it was a no wind day - it was hard to look Kingly.              Photo by Steve Schmidt, (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

We love kid Kings of the Hook. This year, there were two brothers windsurfing in formal wear - top hats and ties.  

And a girl nose rider on board with her mom - who I nominate as Queen of the Hook. She's about six, just learning to windsurf. These groms are the future of our sport - it's exciting to sail with them!

Top hats and hood ornaments - the kids were the stars of King of the Hook!  My nomination for Queen of the Hook is the girl on the right and that's my King on the left.     Photo by Steve Schmidt, (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

Doodle and I were "all cherried out" - a nod to our home town of Mosier, cherry central.      Photo (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

 

It was kinda hard this year - just Doodle and I - no low rider wide-body bassets on board, solid and reliable. Big and flashy dogs of the hook. Just us two squirrels. 

I wore Elvis and Dude name tags as part of my costume.

Dude rode The King every year, even after he went blind. Elvis was the king of doggie windsurfing and SUP.

They are my twin totems, my forever Kings of the Hook. This is the first year we rode without them.

RIP, dear old dog friends.