A Rousing Game of Strappy (Gratuitous Nudity Included)

This week found us over at Hanlan's Point beach sans ball. The angels sighed, the fabric of the time space continuum tore a little bit and the Yorkie whined emphatically. How could we possibly be at the gay nude beach without a ball to entertain Sir Yorkiness. The ball is his elixir. If I was drinking beer, was the Yorkie not entitled to enjoy himself equally, to frolic with the nudies and chase balls like everyone else on the beach?

Luckily we were with a resourceful gentleman, both an entrepreneur and a dog lover. He removed the shoulder strap from his cooler bag and rolled it into a magical ball like shape. Ira was very skeptical at first, but he gave it the old college try. At least someone was throwing something. The strap unravelled upon impact with the sand on the first few throws and resumed its unmagical shape of a cooler shoulder strap. The entrepreneur soldiered on, determined to create the game of fetch the dog so desired. After a few more throws, the strap became tangled and wet, assuming the slightly magical shape of a piece of soggy bark. Good enough thought the Yorkie, game on. And for the next hour he fetched strappy on the beach and out of the lake. A good time was had by all.

Hippie Chic and the Littlest Homo

We are back in the water, whew. Yesterday we loaded a few children, dogs and responsible adults onto a tug boat and ventured over to the Toronto Islands. The nude beach on Hanlan's Point is one of the more interesting features of Toronto's waterfront scene. On any given day, hundreds of naked gay men can be found showcasing their hardware on the long expanse of sandy beach. And the Yorkie, no stranger to gay culture, is happy to prance among men, splashing and cavorting in the water with the best of them. As we pull up to dock on the wall, his nose starts twitching and the whining begins in earnest. The synapses start firing in his brain like cheerios bumping together in a bowl of milk: 'We have returned to the magical place where the love that dare not speak its name can yell and shout and bark out loud." When I toss him off the boat, he's off in a flash, like a one dog pride parade on poppers. Sadie sits demurely on the beach, spaced out on sun and sand and the Joan Baez songs playing in her head.