Fall is my favorite season anywhere, but especially here on the Cape. The dogs can go on the beach again without incurring the wrath of the local gendarmerie, and there's something new every time you go.
Two weeks ago, it was the first Buffleheads of the season, and somebody walking a matched pair of Samoyeds. One of these was a sweetheart, and the other was a jerk just like Gus. Good thing everybody was leashed. Also met a Yellow Lab whose owner was convinced that JoJo's "let's play" act was a vicious attack. Like as if JoJo could hurt a Lab, or even get its attention.
One week ago, it was the first Brants of the season. About a dozen, tucked into the little cove down at the end of Long Beach. And we saw Flora, the World's Sweetest Golden Retriever. Very submissive, Flora, unless you're a dog and try to get in her car. She don't put up with that crap.
The day after Election Day, Gus and I strolled to the end of Long Beach and up the back side. We saw a raft of about a hundred Brants. Gus wanted to run after them, but he couldn't stay on top of the water. The sun had set before we returned, so we walked back under a rising full moon.
Yesterday, I took both Gus and JoJo. On a bright, clear and pretty-damn-windy afternoon, we met a pretty Golden, a really neat-looking white mutt with black patches around each eye and on the tip of his tail, and Flora again. Gus has become such a total putz that I automatically leash him when I see another dog. Can't tell if it's because his leg hurts (which it wouldn't if he'd stop eating it) or because he's protecting JoJo.
Down at the end, we saw about a half-dozen Buffleheads in the cove where the Brants usually hang out, and raised about fifty Brants, who turn out to make the same noise flying that they do sitting on the water: the sound of an equal number of twelve-year-old boys gargling bilge water before spitting it at each other.
And always, whatever the season, there are gulls. One of the winter species is shown above.