It’s the end of August at Cannon Beach in a dog-friendly hotel with kids, grand-kids, friends, dogs, and grand-dogs. And it’s been grand.

A few words about granddogs. Some of the long time readers know that a year and a half ago, my daughter and grandson, Colt, adopted a dog named Snowflake who was billed as a “great family pet.” What the sellers didn’t say in the fine print was that Snowflake had been a mommy-dog in a puppy mill, and she had spent her previous life in an isolated situation (wooden outbuilding) where she had developed no social skills. She was petrified of everything from hairspray to flushing toilets, fireworks to traffic noise. A passing garbage truck could send her into a blind panic. For a while the folks at the Academy for Canine Behavior thought she was so damaged that she would never be a family pet.

But now she is. Almost two years of being in a loving home have transformed her. She spent the day today, wandering back and forth among ten or so strangers gathered around a fire pit, hoping that at least one fallen roasted marshmallow that might land close enough for her to grab it. She loves the beach and she loves the water, and she is so bonded with our daughter that no leash is necessary.

This spring, in order to keep Snowflake company, Storm came into their family, another rescue, this one from a shelter north of Seattle. Storm is now seven months old and seventy pounds, and VERY tall. She looks as though she may be a cross between an Irish Wolfhound and a Poodle. Boot camp at the Academy definitely civilized her, but she is still a puppy! Bella took a dim view of all the puppy antics, and when Storm put her inquisitive nose too close to Bella, Bella made like a striking snake and tried to take a bite out of it. Storm has learned to keep a more respectful distance.

On Saturday, when we first got here, Storm wouldn’t go near the water unless our daughter’s body was between her and the wet. Now she’s learned to run on the beach and in and out of the water. She’s fast. She’s sleek. She’s a wolfhound!! You know that the moment you see her cut loose and run.

It’s Oregon in August. Yesterday it was so cool and comfortable on the beach that the sun got by me. Even though I put on sunscreen, I didn’t reapply it often enough and have the sunburned neck to prove it. This afternoon, sprinkles drove us inside from the fire pit, and now it’s raining hard.

We’ve had breakfasts at Pig-and-Pancake; we’ve waded in the water; we’ve sat around the campfire laughing and talking. Oh, and we’ve flown kites.

Last year Colt was too young to fly kites. Not this year. It’s been wonderful to see him mastering that skill and using full-body karate moves to put the kite through its paces. Colt’s kite is small. Uncle Alan’s kite, an Octopus, is not only large, it was also on a serious fishing line on a surf-casting rod. Late in the day yesterday, Uncle Alan handed the rod over to Colt and the string got away from him, as did the kite. Colt and Alan chased it and nearly got it back, but it lodged on the roof of Moe’s Restaurant. At dinner Colt asked if he could go up on the roof to get it. The answer to that was a definite N-O, but an obliging manager did go up and retrieve it. So the Octopus is not lost.

In other words it’s been fun. Just what the doctor ordered to get my head on track to go back to work. New book announcements went out last night, and all the new messages in my e-mail account tell me that September 10 is coming at me like a freight train.