Surf Dog passes away

The irony is that as that two days after he died, a massive winter storm
      hit the Cape and the swell jacked up to levels unsurpassed this year.

      Rocky and his owner Rob, dubbed by the Glen Beach crew as Admiral
      Pointdexter (he prefers to be called Rob), were inseparable. If Rob was
      surfing somewhere deep in the kelp off Soetwater, the Kom or the
      Factory, you could be certain that Rocky was lurking about chasing
      kelp lice or chewing body boarders' fins on the beach.

      If Rob went out at night to a bar, or a friend's house, Rocky was always
      in tow. On surf trips in other people's cars, you had to have a really
      persuasive argument to leave Rocky behind. Dog hairs and drool all over
      the back seat and windows was insufficient reason to deny Rocky his
      right to come along.

      If you wore a uniform, and Rocky checked you out, you were history. He
      was obsessed with uniforms. In a split second, Rocky would be
      transformed from a peace-loving, beach-chilling surf hound into a
      snarling snapping beast, jowls flopping up and down like jelly, spittle
      spattering the car windows.

      Perhaps this strange quirk resulted from the time Rocky was savaged
      by an alpha male baboon in his frivolous youth. A pack of baboons must
      have grown tired of being chased up and down the mountain at 365s.
      One day, the yellow-eyed leader decided it was payback time.

      Rocky chased a member of the troop into some bushes, snarling and
      bikking in customary Rocky style. His owner claims vehemently that
      Rocky wouldn't have know what to do once he caught anything. The
      occasional bodyboarder or petrol attendant might testify otherwise.

      Meanwhile, the alpha male baboon had circled back around the fracas
      and, with his back to the ocean, blocked Rocky's path to his beloved
      master, and attacked with a verocity that only fang-bared baboons
      exhibit.

      Rob heard the screams of pain, and with a bloodcurdling cry managed
      to scare off the baboon.

      Disembowelled and ripped apart, Rocky escaped death by a whisker
      and the swift work of a skilled vet.

      Rocky was a true surf dog, and lived for the ocean. Rocky, we salute
      you. Let's hope that dog heaven is populated by plenty of policemen and
      nurses.