He had me at “a dog”

“What a pretty dog. Is that a wave?” [Meg asked.]

Scowling, Isaac looked up. The black and white dog had appeared out of nowhere, racing south along the foaming edge of a retreating wave, chasing a yellow tennis ball that threw up spray in its wake without ever slowing. Isaac thought that might violate the laws of physics but he didn’t care about dogs—Lily, his cat back at home, made sure of that.

Rushing out, the wash collided with a low-breaking comber, another behind it slightly higher. Amusing for little kids with Styrofoam boogie boards, maybe. Farther out, a tall hump of swell bellied over the kelp beds toward land. Isaac had watched Jackson surf often enough to believe it had potential, but where was Jackson? Where were the other six surfers? Isaac shot to his feet.

The hump rose, took on definition, towered. Just as froth began to boil along the crest, one and then another sharp-beaked cormorant broke the glassy blue-green wall, black wings frantic. A moment later, four more followed in a rush, clearing the tube as it formed and began to topple.

“What?” shouted Isaac. “Where’s Jackson?”

As if its name were called, a final cormorant burst through the foaming crest. A silver fish too big to swallow all at once wriggled in its beak as it swooped toward shore, the wave collapsing mightily behind it.

“Jackson?”

Delighted, the dog Isaac had forgotten veered away from the yellow ball, yapping, galloping after the skimming black bird into hock-deep wash, oblivious of the crashing confusion of broken comber rushing at it and the taller wave following. A scornful cormorant lured the dog deeper and then darted into the air as tumbling waters knocked the dog’s feet from under it and the larger wave fell.

Isaac ran unthinking. Before he leapt the flotsam-jetsam tide line onto damp sand, the dog got its head above water for a moment but couldn’t seem to find its feet in the battling currents. Another wave broke on its head. Isaac was knee-deep in the chilly surf—then crotch deep when the next collapsing swell caught him, nearly taking his feet with it. He found the struggling dog, muzzle high, trying to float, trying to paddle, and managed to get one arm under its chest, lifting it against his own chest.

The dog went limp. Adjusting his hold to support the hindquarters, Isaac turned to carry it back to dry land. A last malicious wave smacked his ass and then he was free, staggering through shin-high retreating wash. At least the dog wasn’t as heavy as he’d expected.

He glanced back over his shoulder. The bay had resumed its near calm, troubled only by low swell that barely broke before it hit sand and hissed a few yards inland. The fog bank had advanced. No sign of bobbing surfers straddling their boards—or bobbing surferless boards. That was somehow a relief.

Isaac waited till the sand clogging his feet was dry, beyond the fringe of stinking kelp, before he set his soggy burden down on its own feet. He was soggy, too: squelchy sneakers, wet jeans, wet halfway up his sweater and the Red Caps T-shirt underneath. The dog just stood there, head low, its panting mixed with coughs, but at least it didn’t fall over.

“Doggy?” said Isaac. “Are you all right?”

After a moment, the dog turned its head toward him.

“Where’s your owner, doggy?”

The dog sneezed and looked up again with a panting grin.

“It’s technically illegal for you to be on the beach off leash.”

Lowering its head again, the dog shook enthusiastically. Dog-scented spray showered Isaac, soaking him where he wasn’t already wet. Long, thick fur held a lot of seawater.

“Of course you would, doggy,” Isaac said, resigned. “Of course I didn’t bring a towel because nobody but crazed surfers in wetsuits ever go into Carmel Bay, because it’s really freaking cold. Are you feeling better? Where’s your owner? Find your owner, boy. Girl. Whatever you are.”

The dog just stared doggily into his eyes.

“I’m not a dog person. I mean, I don’t dislike dogs but I don’t have a lot of experience. I rescued you, isn’t that enough? Go find your owner.”

The dog’s wet tail waved. Black feathers clumped by damp reminded Isaac irresistibly of long eyelashes, tear clumped—a boy’s thick lashes, if any boy ever came close enough, if Isaac were worth crying over. Taking two steps toward him, the dog sat, tail brushing the sand. Adoring eyes the color of fresh caramel tried to melt Isaac.

“That’s not fair, doggy. I don’t know you. Where’s your owner?” Although Isaac knew almost nothing about dogs, he’d seen Babe at an impressionable age so he was pretty sure this one, with its white muzzle and forehead blaze, white chest and front legs, was a border collie. “You’re supposed to be so smart—find your owner.”