What The Dog does at the beach...

Yes, visual proof that we have been on Our Annual Sardinian Vacation. Two weeks of sun & frolick for The Dog & Short-person too. I had to labor under My Normal Land-side Tasks of grocery shopping, feeding & walking these lazy characters. They did graciously allow me time off to read my exciting book on the innumerable conspiracy theories behind Princess Diana's death.. way back in '97!!! Frankly... I believe Diana's fame did her in. But then, that's not nearly so much fun as to think that M16 smeared an undetectable poison on the steering-wheel of the already bummed-out Mercedes-Benz... it was stollen two weeks before the tragedy. Kind of suspicious, no?... which then sent the French driver into cardiac arrest while the car sped pell-mell through that tunnel under Paris. C'est la vie.
Now... about The Dog on vacation...
Please note: that nasty bit of eco-erosion is all The Dog's fault. He is resting after digging-digging-digging it, Item #2 on his "Yippee! Stand clear, boys. I'm at the beach!" The area of our encampment often looks like it was bombed & strafed by marauding B-52s, once The Dog has had his fill of Dog at Work. Seems there is no greater satisfaction. Trims his nails too.
Item #1 is The Dog goes & jumps immediately in the water. Naturally, where no right-minded Human Being would ever dare to dip a toe... in the yuckie smelly algae invested pools of sea water gurgling around rocky shoals without the benefit of n'er a wave to disrupt its stinky & sulfurous Peace. This is no surprise to me, in light of The Dog's insistence upon utilising his Weimaraner schnoz for sniffing the most disgusting flotsam etc. found on Our Walks. Algae smell is... apparently... Paradise on Earth. However, The Dog ought to take it upon himself to wipe himself off before galloping over to lick me... thank you.
Item #2, previously mentioned...
Item #3 is The Dog works on his tan. He turns silver. Pretty cool, no? Moses is very sensitive to the sun. Did you know Weimaraners are canine albinos? Yep. I'd smear him with sun-protection, however, he'd just lick it off... damn-him. This is not helpful either. He gets really red around his leg-pits where there is hardly any Weimaraner hair to protect him. And yet, he insists on curling up under the blazing Sardinian sun.
There is no Item #4. I am very thankful it isn't something like... barking at passerbys. No sense in scaring some unsuspecting Swedish-person trekking to inspect a WWII bunker. Gads.