It's Not How Old You Are ...

I'm walking the beach and a fairly old cocker spaniel starts barking, yelling HI HI HI HI. She gets the attention of her buddies, a young Basenji and an old Schnauzer, who don't bark, but join in the run to greet me.

Problem is, there's a very old woman holding all three dog on very short leashes. And she's sitting in a very old and wobbly lawn chair. On an uneven beach. These are little dogs, but their efforts to greet me topple the old lady over onto her knees, in the sand. It' a scary scene.

This woman is not young.

She's at least 70, and as I watch her crawl around in the sand, trying to stand up, I see her dogs tangling her legs with their leashes. I run over to help. She waves me off. "I can make it," she says, causally, as if she's done this a hundred times.

I watch this elderly woman unwind herself from her dog leashes while on her way to standing up. She makes it. No problem. Then she points to the surf. "Oh, here comes Mom."

MOM?

I look and yep, I see an even older woman doddering up the beach. She's mastered her unsteady gait to the point she dodges waves, sand piles and seaweed successfully while holding treasures in her hand.

"How old is Mom?" I ask. (Am I rude?)

"90."