Cuckoo for Cat Rock

It is a dog walking place ironically named Cat Rock. What a haven for canines and their owners and caretakers.

On any given day small and large packs converge on the idyllic pond equidistantly located among the trails. As you head down the main trail towards the watery target, barking and yelping can clearly be heard in the distance.

My dog, Chagall, ever the aloof mature alpha male - or so he pretends - does not hasten his pace as we round the bend...the beach in our sites. He is not fooling anyone. When we get there and see 20-plus dogs of every shape, size, color and age, all his sophistication is dropped.

Chagall, always the sheriff, is vigilant in his maintenance of order. Good luck on a beautiful summer day at the "beach" with tons of fun-loving "kids", my sweet boy. After futile horizontal pursuit through the water of any derelicts for more than 20 minutes, Chagall succumbed to the allure.

He regrouped and waded so that the cool, clean water gently caressed his underbelly, occasionally splashing onto his back. No actual swimming for my young man. Never has, never will. Ultimately Chagall glides over to the corner near the shore that is somewhat shaded by trees. Other black and/or older dogs join him. The main group, however, pursues ball after ball or stick, scuba dives for rocks or wrestles.