I was at Napatree Point in Westerly the other morning, enjoying what can only be described as luxury weather. The wind was a gentle 5 MPH—down from last week’s 35 MPH gusts that had been actively trying to relocate me to Block Island without my consent. It felt calm. Civilized. Almost suspicious.
I was strolling the beach when I spotted someone familiar walking her dogs. And that’s when the universe leaned forward in its chair and said, “Watch this.”
This woman has two Irish Terriers that absolutely, unequivocally, unapologetically adore her. Not “like.” Not “enjoy her company.” Adore. When she walks, they move in perfect formation—like furry Secret Service agents awaiting the slightest eyebrow twitch for instructions. Calling them attentive would be an understatement. Calling them inseparable would be generous, because that implies the possibility of separation. These dogs had achieved a level of canine codependency that deserves its own documentary.
At least… that’s what I thought.
I emerged from one of the paths that offers commanding views of birds and entered the beach proper, when I noticed the canine entourage heading my way. It had been a slow bird day—feathered residents apparently on strike—so I figured I’d photograph the next best thing: pure, unfiltered joy with paws.
I knelt down for a better angle and started capturing these dogs running, jumping, fetching—basically performing a live-action highlight reel titled “Why Humans Don’t Deserve Dogs.”
And then… it happened.
One of the dogs noticed me.
Instantly, he transformed from Joyful Beach Pup into McGruff the Crime Dog. No warning. No barking. No paperwork. Just pure law enforcement.
He made a beeline straight for me and didn’t slow down until his muzzle was inside my lens hood.
Inside.
My.
Lens.
Hood.
His inspection was so thorough I briefly wondered if I owed him identification. I started talking to him when he was about ten feet out, using my calmest, least-threatening voice—the one reserved for dogs and TSA agents.
Apparently, he concluded I was not a danger to society.
He departed as abruptly as he arrived. No farewell. No backward glance. No apology. Just poof—gone. Honestly, it made me feel harmless. Which, to be fair, I am.
The expression on his owner’s face was priceless: a big smile, followed by an approving “Atta boy” directed at her four-legged enforcer. Meanwhile, the other dog never left her side, clearly assuming the bodyguard role. “I’ll stay with the principal,” his posture said.
The morning didn’t produce anything a birder would consider noteworthy. No rare sightings. No dramatic dives. No wings of glory.
But for me?
It was a doggone good morning.
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