It’s a quiet Saturday morning in my small coastal New England town, a perfect time to take a long walk on the beach with my dog, Sandy. With a cup full of coffee and a pocketful of Charlee Bear treats, there is no better way to start the day. As we set out for our walk, something in the distance steals Sandy’s attention. I get a sinking feeling that my peaceful morning is about to come to an abrupt end. Over the crest of the dunes on the other end of the beach, he comes into view—a handsome young goldendoodle, tail wagging and ready for action. “Sandy, stay,” I warn her. She gives me one last look as if to say “I’m sorry’ before she heads off in the opposite direction. “Sandy, come,’ I plead, but faster than a tail wag she bolts, kicking up sand in her wake. As I watch her tail disappear into the dunes, my frustration turns into despair. I feel the eyes of the other dog owners looking at me in sympathy. “She’ll come back,’ I assure them. Or maybe I’m just trying to assure myself.
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