Bobo was promised a day at the Dog Beach while we're in California. He's very, very excited.
The thing is, Bobo has no idea what a Dog Beach is, a fact that sank in over the course of about three days, and has since required that we (by 'we' I mean I), explain to him, every night, about waves and sand and seagulls. About the smell of salt air, and seashells, and seaweed and how very small one feels on the Ocean's shore. Of course I must also name as many creatures as I know that call the water home, and describe, in detail, each dog that might be there when we arrive, and oh, tell me again daddy about how absolutely no cats are allowed at any time.
Apparently we have bears. Three of them. (They travel like that, you know, in threes). Real bears. Not the kind that I imaginate, (or enigmate). The kind of bears that helicopters come looking for. Honey-loving bears.
Do I even need mention how badly I'd like to see one, or all of this clan, come strolling across my farm?