The first reaction once the dog realizes the leash has been unclipped is usually a gleeful bolt, flat-out, all the pent-up RUN! exploding across the vast inviting sand.
It's true some of the more sedate fellows will take off in a stroll rather than a cavalry charge, especially with a newfound buddy along.
And some dogs, well, they're just not built for ballistics.
But running running running - well, that's the whole point of a no-leash zone, isn't it? The dogs certainly think so.
They make new friends, too.
And so the solitary dog, packless at home save for its human, gets to play with a packmate, to romp and run with a temporary soulmate.
Some dogs find the beach itself fascinating - the strange new textures underfoot, the strange new smells assailing the nose.
And then there's The Tennis Ball of Bliss.
The Object of Desire hurled by their human - Chase it!
Don't let it escape!
Capture it!
Bring it back and do it again!
There was a boxer on the beach who was passionate about the fetch game, utterly obsessed with the ratty old frisbee his human flung for him.
And I do mean ratty.
He locked onto each toss like an outfielder running down a high fly ball.
He timed his leaps perfectly.
Even another dog racing to intercept couldn't throw him off his laser-precise aim.
No way he was letting an intruder have his toy, nossirree.
No, that ratty old thing was HIS ratty old thing, and the boxer was proud of it.
Matter of fact, every dog playing fetch was joyfully into the game, from the pursuit...
...to the capture...
...to the triumphant return.
Yep, it's a dog's life on the beach, and it's a damn fine life for a dog.
