A Larchmont wash-out.

Though the radio said the rain would, at times, be torrential, we went up to the beach on Saturday anyway.

Whiskey insisted.

I know it doesn't make a pile of sense to attribute an understanding of chronological time to a Golden Retriever, but somehow Whiskey understands when the weekend is here. Accordingly she makes it abundantly clear to us that she expects to go swimming.

So, again, despite the reports of inclement weather, we loaded up the Simca for a day in the country.

Since we left before 7AM, we made it up to Larchmont in fewer than 30 minutes. Along the way, a light drizzle began, which we decided to ignore. It was hot enough out--even at 7:15 that the mist was welcome and cooling.

My wife jumped out of the car with Whiskey and walked to water's edge with Whiskey's breakfast. Whiskey ate like she hadn't seen food for a month. And by the time I had parked and locked the car, she had already fetched her day-glo orange bumper a half dozen times.

My wife tries, but Whiskey appreciates my arm. She appreciates how far I can throw her toys into the sea. And she appreciates that I'll toss a stone nearby her floats to better help her mark what she needs to retrieve.

By the time I arrived at the beach it was raining harder. There was one other guy there. A 40-year-old with a water-loving Viszla named Elsa.

Now it was pouring and there were bolts of lightning from down about Co-op City way. The thunder roared.

All of us humans, took cover under an all-too-porous aluminum dock. It did nothing to shield us from rain that had turned torrential.

Still, I braved things. I kept tossing Whiskey's float into the water. She kept doing what she's been bred over the centuries to do. Bringing it back to me.

Finally, after about ten minutes, we were as wet as the sea itself.

We ran for cover and made it to the Simca, which was dry. Even the leak near the right passenger-side window. Lothar, my Croatian mechanic, down in Tom's River has done wonders with the 50-year-old machine.

Whiskey was wet on her tarpaulin in the back. My wife and I were dripping on the vinyl in the front. The engine turned over. I shifted into first and we drove back to the city. Whiskey wondered why such a short session.

My wife further convinced I am out of my mind.