Gold un-retriever... funny YouTube!

Golden's have the big name. They're glamorous, flashy and blonde. They're gold medal swimmers.

They get instant cred for chasing balls and sticks. And of course, it's in their name - retriever. Not just any retriever - gold ones.

But this funny golden just can't make it work. He's an underachiever. A gold un-retriever. 

Doodle here - with my golden doxie retriever gig - at Dog Beach.       Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org  

I'm a doxie retriever. Move over, Goldie!

We doxies catch and fetch just fine. We'd never let it slip, especially not food!

And we're great swimmers. Don't be fooled by little legs and the whole lap dog thing. 

My bff- my favorite fetch buddy-- is... Ball!  Once I start with Ball!, I just can't stop. 

You might think of goldens as water dogs and surf dogs - and they are amazing - they walk on water.

But you can't live your whole life on good looks.... or legacies.

Never underestimate the power of.... underdogs.

- Doodle

Surf dog secret spot: camping the redwood coast

Cedar scent in my tent. Soft and spongy soil. Rhythmic breath, deep basset baritone. Elvis, snoring louder than anyone ever should. Sawing logs in the redwood forest.

          He ain’t nothing but a hound dog.

Mouth agape, grinning about some really great inside joke that only basset hounds know. He was a yard sale. Sprawled all over the place. Dwarf two-inch legs jutting up to the sky, like four posts of a billboard promoting dogs on vacation. I wish I could sleep like – live like -- that.

          Let it all go, his body said.

Sun coming up, searing a laser hot slice of orange glow through turquoise tent. Snuggled up to Elvis, the king of camping, was his best bud, Dude. The basset/beagle, a bagel, was spooning Elvis, quietly snoring with a peaceful baby face. Dude released himself to the universe. The forest.

            Let it all go.

Like a sweet little basset boy that finally found home. In a Coleman tent that rattled in the ocean breeze.

Wait, did someone say ocean?

           Barrroooooooo!

Right inside the tent, with redwood air and basset hounds sawing logs, was the scent of the sea, the rhythm of Mother Ocean.

You can smell her from the forest, few places on Earth – here in the California redwoods. Here in No Cal, two hundred year old trees hang out with their next door neighbors, sandy beaches. You never see that in So Cal, where we once lived.

Two dudes at the overlook on the redwood coast.   Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

Here, the forest and the ferns and the cliffs and the mist…. Here, there are so fewer people than So Cal - the way nature intended.

This is the real deal. A surf dog secret spot. That view of the redwood coast, near the Oregon border, will change your life. If you let it.

Elvis lumbered out, ahead of us on the trail. And stood, statuesque, on the shoreline bluff. Misty filtered morning light, deep basset hound thoughts.

Mesmerizing waves, dancing to shore. Round black rocks, rocking back and forth, back and forth in the tide, making music.

Elvis, thoughtful. Gazing out at the future ahead.

I loved that about him- the effortless ability to sum it all up in the fewest words possible.

= Flashbacks with Dude n Elvis. I miss my old boys! =