“Is that your dog over there?” I was asked repeatedly.
“Yep. He’s mine.”
As they always seemed to, the repetitive questions and answers about my big black-and-white dog went on and on and on:
“What kind of dog is he?” “A Newfoundland.”
“How much does he weigh?” “One hundred forty pounds.”
“Does he eat a lot?” “Surprisingly, not really.”
“And he’s really going to surf?” “I hope so.”
“And he’s done it before?” “He has. He loves it.”
“What’s his name?” “George.”
“Aw-w-w-w-w. George! Can I pet him?” “You sure can. He’d like that.”
Finally, the loudspeakers announced more news. “Okay, folks. Now we’re ready for our last round of competitors. It’s time for the heavyweights, the extra-large division! Please make your way down to the water.”
“Okay, George. We’re up,” I said. I excused George from his current set of fans, put on my wet suit and gave George another drink of water. “Let’s go.”
He wagged his tail as hard as he had all day. I picked up our surfboard and we walked over to the epicenter of the competition—the judges’ tent. I looked down at George as he cut through the crowd like a boxer entering the ring. People had their phones and cameras out, taking pictures and pointing. “There he is! That’s the big dog I was telling you about!” Or, “Good luck, George!”
He had his chest puffed out and was turning his head from side to side, acknowledging everyone who was watching him. He looked every person in the eye. Once we arrived at the tent, I bent and whispered in his ear, “Are you ready?” I was still a bit unsure of what we were about to do, but he seemed ready to go.
In front of us was a retriever with its owner, who was carrying a custom surfboard with the dog’s name written across it. At the judges’ area, a goldendoodle was sitting with her people, including a film crew who were documenting her experience. Obviously this was the competitor to watch. George and I—my Newf with his tiny, poorly fitting life jacket and me carrying the most beat-up surfboard at the beach—looked like we didn’t know what we were doing. The appearance wasn’t deceiving. Going up against dogs owning brand-new surfboards and having their own videographers made me feel a bit underprepared. It was like the moment in every Disney sports movie when the heroic underdogs see their much slicker, better-funded nemesis. But George didn’t care at all about the other dogs’ equipment and I liked that. I followed his lead and just focused on us.
We arrived at the water’s edge and took a place a ways off from the other competitors. Among the dogs in George’s heat were two retrievers, a German shepherd, an enormous bulldog and the goldendoodle. One retriever was jumping around in a mad rush of excitement and the other was having a hard time staying awake. The brick-shaped bulldog was standing beside his spanking-new blue-and-gray surfboard. The goldendoodle reclined in the sand as though modeling for a swimsuit calendar. Her film crew huddled around her, recording her every move.
As for the handlers, they varied as much as the dogs. The owner of the bulldog greeted me and George in a friendly, relaxed way. One of the owners of the labs was very excited and raring to go, circling his dog and checking his equipment. As I took in this scene, I became aware of just how big George was. He was the biggest dog by at least fifty pounds. It was also the first moment of the day that no one paid us attention. It was kind of nice to focus on each other rather than on the carnival around us.
One of the judges approached and explained some of the rules. “Remember, the goal is to catch as many waves as you can in ten minutes, and we award extra points for tricks.”
The owners around us nodded. They all knew the drill, but we didn’t.
“Tricks?” I asked.
“Yeah. Like riding backward. Or walking up to the nose of the surfboard. That kinda thing.”
I was just hoping George would get on the board and not fall off!
“The contest begins in just a couple of minutes. If you can please lay out your boards in the sand and wait till you hear the air horn blow. That’s your signal to take to the waves with your pooches. And good luck!” The judge scampered back to his post at the judges’ stand, and I positioned our giant board at the edge of the shore as instructed. George followed and immediately stood on it, proud as a peacock. I could hear people laughing and cameras clicking away. So much for our quiet moment out of the spotlight.
I dropped to one knee on the sand beside George and put my hand on the back of his head. He was calm, alert, and he seemed as happy as ever, looking at me as if asking, “So what’s next?”
“Let’s go have fun,” I said, giving his head a nuzzle. He returned the affection in his big, sloppy way.
The clouds had blown over somewhat and the sun was shining through small breaks in the sky. The waves hadn’t diminished in the slightest, and in fact were getting larger. The other dogs and owners were in a line down the beach, watching the water, as was George.
The shrill blast of the air horn pierced the air and was echoed by the cheering crowd. “Let’s go!” I shouted, and George ran beside me, matching me stride for stride, into the rolling surf. I dived across the surface with the board underneath me and started to paddle out. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the other handlers getting in the water and their dogs swimming out to sea beside them.
George stayed close by my side, and his powerful stroke allowed us to reach the break well before anyone else. Getting past the break and into the open ocean is the hardest part of surfing, whether amateur or pro, human or dog. Human surfers usually dive under the waves then surface on the other side of them and continue to paddle out, a physically demanding technique. With most dogs, however, diving under is ruled out by their instinct to keep their head above water. Not so George—he would go under a wave without a second thought. The hard part was what to do with him once he surfaced, how to help him onto the board in these massive waves, the likes of which we’d never seen. Getting him balanced on the board was like trying to set a table inside a working washing machine.
I jumped off the surfboard into chest-deep water, with George swimming powerfully a few feet beside me. A wall of white water rolled in, and I pushed the nose of the surfboard down to allow the water to wash over it. As I did this, I kept my eye on George, who had instinctively ducked his head into the wave and kept his legs churning forward. The wall of water washed over both of us and his head popped up to the surface two seconds later—he had been pushed back only a couple feet. I couldn’t have trained him to do it any better. “Whew! Good boy, George!” I yelled over the sound of the waves crashing around us.
He churned toward me and in a matter of seconds had his two front paws up on the surfboard. Newfoundlands are legendary for their bravery and strength in the ocean, and today the instincts of George’s breed were coming into good use. I took his webbed paws in my hands as he looked me in the eye with an intensity I had never seen in him. Half out of breath, I said, “I’m going to push your bum up on the board, and you’re going to stay. Okay?” I knew he wouldn’t understand, but I also knew my tone would keep him focused and that he did understand the most important word I’d said: stay.
We had about ten more seconds before the next wall of white water would roll over top of us. I grabbed one his back legs and pushed his rear end up onto the board. And just like that, he was on the board by himself. “Stay, George!” He stood steady as a statue. His long legs, which I’d been warned were a liability, were actually an asset when getting through the break because the waves were flowing between his body and the partially submerged board. I pulled the board beside me and lay down on the back, paddling us forward as hard as I could. One more wave and we’d clear the break and be in the right place to turn around and catch a wave in.
The big wave was almost upon us. “Hang tight, George. Stay.” If we didn’t time it right, it would crash right on top of us. The front of t
he board rose and we almost got to forty-five degrees as the wave peaked. We fell forward quickly as the wave surged underneath us, but George kept his balance and did not move. We made it past the break! I looked back to see most of our competitors still behind us, getting dunked while trying to swim over the breaking waves.
Even with a bit of a head start, life past the break was intimidating. The waves were up to seven feet high, which was the upper limit of anything I had ever tried to surf by myself, never mind with George. Safe from breaking waves for a moment, I caught my breath and started to map out our next step. Basically I had to turn the board around and get George’s weight centered so he could surf by himself. If he was too far forward, as soon as the wave started moving George would be catapulted into the water in a huge wipeout. If he was too far back, the wave would wash underneath him and he would go nowhere.
All George wanted to do was lick my face. He turned around and plastered me with kisses. “George, cut it out for a second. There are hundreds of people watching.” Treading water beside the board, I had to move his legs to get him properly positioned. He thought this was a fun game and he kept moving back to his previous spot on the board. After a few tries, when he was finally dead center and in the proper position, I told him to sit. And he did.
“Good boy! Stay, George,” I said. Then I spun the board around so it pointed toward the shore. “We are waiting for a good wave and you are going to surf back into the beach like a pro.”
I looked behind us and saw a big six-footer heading our way. It was a perfectly formed California wave—a smooth, legendary wall of water, the kind surfers from around the world come to test their skills on. “Here we go,” I said as calmly as possible.
I pushed the surfboard in sync with the wave and let go … and it worked. It totally worked! For a few glorious seconds the wave picked up the board and sped George toward the shore. He was surfing by himself!
He sat perfectly, head high. I was ecstatic. I could hear the roar of the crowd! He surfed past one of the retrievers struggling to find its board. Then, after a few more seconds, he stirred and looked over his shoulder. The question was written on his face plain as day: “Where is he?” George then turned himself around completely, surfing backward as he spotted me in the water.
I saw his big eyes open wide. Oh no. He’s going to come back for me. And a second later George dived off the board. The spectators groaned. He swam back through the surf toward me. When he reached me, he took my forearm in his mouth and started to pull me to the safety of the beach.
When we arrived, I stood up. “See?” I told him. “I’m fine.”
A volunteer grabbed our surfboard, and when George saw it, he began wagging his tail.
A few spectators yelled, “Good boy, George! That was amazing!” and “Try it again!” George glanced at them, head cocked. He didn’t think surfing a big wave was anything special at all. He gazed up at me as if to ask, “What’s next?”
I retrieved the surfboard, and George began to prance on the shoreline, ready to go back out. I looked out at the break and was pleased to see some of the other dogs getting short rides in. “Let’s go again, George!” I said.
This time he hopped on the board early, and I guided him straight to the break. He managed to keep his balance as we made it through the white water. George had started to catch on to the positioning part and now sat balanced in the middle of the board. Convincing him to stay on the board by himself, though, proved to be a problem. A big problem. On our next three attempts he was perfectly placed for big waves, but every time I released the board, within a second or two he’d turn around and see me in the water behind him. He had that look on his face that said, “Hold on, I’m coming to save you!” Then he’d jump off the moving surfboard and swim back to me.
The fourth attempt, though, with time about to run out, I released him onto the face of a wave that was tall enough to hide me in its trough. When I could see him again, he was peering around for me, but he’d already stayed in place longer than on any previous run. The wave broke and the white water continued to take him to shore when he finally spotted me—he’d managed to turn in a run lasting a full eight seconds! People on the beach cheered and I was speechless.
Eventually George casually jumped off the board, and instead of heading to shore the way the other dogs did, he did a quick U-turn in the shallow water and swam out to “save” me yet again. I met him in chest-deep water and this time he put his paws up on my shoulders. I gave him a big hug as he licked my face. The air horn sounded—the ten minutes had gone by fast. We made our way out of the water just as the stocky bulldog took a nice, final wave. The retrievers and the goldendoodle were shaking themselves off and wagging their tails, glad to be back on shore.
“Let’s hear it for the extra-large dogs!” the announcer said. “They were fearless canines out there, taking the tallest waves of the day, and we saw some amazing rides from one very big Newfoundland, some great retrievers and from one very solid bulldog, too! Well done!”
I really had no idea how George had done compared to the other dogs in the heat, but the crowd seemed thrilled with his performance and a few people were chanting his name. The surfing was hard, unlike anything we had ever done, but George had clearly had fun.
Just then a group of photographers, all carrying telephoto lenses, asked to take our picture.
“That was incredible,” one photographer said. “Never seen anything like it.”
It felt very strange, like George and I had gone from not really fitting in to becoming celebrities in a matter of minutes. George, still wearing his goofy life jacket, was soaked to the skin and covered in sand. Nevertheless he posed as if he had been doing it all his life—head up, chest out and legs set wide and strong, like a duke’s prized hound in an English oil painting.
Then without warning he shook himself off, spectacularly soaking the photographers and spectators, eliciting shrieks and a huge burst of laughter. “Nice one, George. Thanks!” one of the photographers said. Upon hearing his name, George looked at him as if to say, “What, did I do something wrong?”
“George, you’re a piece of work.”
A couple of kids wandered over. “Can we hug him?” they asked me. “He was so good out there. He’s my favorite dog!”
“Sure you can hug him—if you don’t mind getting wet.” The kids pounced on George, giving him huge hugs that were returned with big, sloppy dog kisses. The photographers captured it all on camera—George’s loving personality shining as brightly as I had ever seen. He was happy, beyond happy. He was at peace and at home. And for the first time since I could remember, I felt the same way.
The photographers got what they needed and drifted off, but the attention George received didn’t waver. I took him back to our umbrella and blanket, removed his life jacket and neck scarf, intending to let him rest, but it was impossible—there were just too many people who wanted to meet him.
The owner of the bulldog from our heat came over. “I saw you guys getting through that break—congrats! You must be looking forward to doing it again in the finals this afternoon.”
“Finals?” I didn’t think being in the finals was something George and I needed to worry about.
“Yeah. Bruno and I made it through and so did you and George. It’s going to be fun!”
I was shocked. “I had no clue George did that well. I guess we’ll see you out there again later.”
“For sure! Can’t wait. And good luck!”
“Thanks. Same to you!”
After he left, a crowd formed in front of our umbrella, and George provided hugs, kisses and photo ops for everyone who stopped by. If he could have signed autographs, he would have done that, too. After twenty minutes or so, the crowd went away and George, still wet and covered in sand, flaked out on the blanket and promptly started snoring.
Poor George was worn out. He’d already had quite the day. And while I knew he had enjoyed every minute—as had I—I also knew he
wasn’t used to surfing twice in one day. Looking down at the big, tired dog, still rumbling and fast asleep, I decided that I would let George choose if he wanted to go out there again. I was learning by then that the leash between us worked two ways and that sometimes it was important to follow his lead. If George woke up with renewed energy and wanted to surf in the finals, he would. And if he didn’t, that was fine with me, too.
George was still sleeping an hour later when the announcer took to the loudspeaker once more to say that the finals were about to begin. George opened one eye, then the other. He looked around and hopped to his feet as if he couldn’t believe he’d missed any of the action. “Good nap, George?” I asked, and he flapped his ears, shaking the sleep off. I gave him some of his favorite cookies and a fresh bowl of water, which he lapped up eagerly.
When he was finished, I asked, “You ready to go back out there? Totally up to you.” I got up and began gathering the surfboard and his life jacket, watching George for clues. His tail started wagging when he saw the surfboard under my arm. He arched his back and stretched his legs in a perfect downward dog pose.
“Want to put this back on?” I asked, as I grabbed his life jacket. He pushed his head into the hole and waited for me to fasten the clips. “Good boy!”
Once the mini life jacket was on, I led him over to the starting area. Decked out for competition yet again, he walked with a bit of a strut, but this time as he parted the crowd, he didn’t turn to the people who called his name. There was a new determination in him, as if he were saying, “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Free Days with George Page 17