Beach Blanket Baker

Chet Baker had never experienced salt water before our trip to the Delaware shore last weekend. Lake Chautauqua was as close as he had come to any large body of water. The first lesson he had to learn was that it wasn't drinkable. He'd lap a few times, then get this sick look on his face, cough, and throw up. After awhile he wouldn't even pick up a stick thrown into the water, for fear he'd get that yucky stuff in his mouth again. Some retriever he'd make.
The concept he really flashed on, though, was waves. He'd never played in waves. And so, though these waves were indescribably foul, thanks to Delaware's thriving factory chicken farms that pump untold ppm of nitrates into the bay, he romped and played in them. He had a peculiar humpty-backed posture as he skibbled up and down the beach, and a wide grin on his face. It's not hard to tell when a Boston is having a really good time; they grin. This was a dog's idea of heaven: REALLY stinky waves and sand to roll in and a bunch of people laughing along with him.
I let him go in twice in the same day, and then bathed him with a spaghetti pot full of hot soapy water back at the cabin. Clean again, he was ready to play with our fabbo bass/guitar/vocal expert Vincenzo Serafino Mele
and flake out on the cool tile floor of the conservation lab with the kids. As much fun as we had, we're sure Baker had more fun.