Frenchy the Frenchman, prostate in the sand could
barely open his eyelids. As he did he couldn't
believe his eyes. All he could see was the pack of
coyotes joined by a few stray wolves. Dear Lord,
if my numbers up please give me one more chance.
He felt the hairy beasts moving in for the kill,
their breath filled with the taste of fresh blood.
Suddenly, the sky filled with ominous black clouds.
The snarling animals balked, their ears pointed
toward the heavens. The waters behind Frenchy
receeded as if a tidal wave had emerged. A
boom that would have filled the "Throne
of God" over San Onofre. You wouldn't
believe this, but the Frenchman was
in the middle of a tsunami. The wolves
and coyotes headed for high ground. The
first wave sucked out to the third reef. Faster
than you could say "Jack Robinson" a wall
of water twelve feet in height rumbled onto shore
pulling a newly resucited Frenchy, catapalting him
onto the sandstone bluff 40' above the beach. He
landed with a thud. Before he realized ehere he was,
a familiar face nuzzled him. It was Oyster. He
was alive. He was alright. "Oh, thank you Great
Kahuna. This will be a great Thanksgiving after all."

Written by Bob Cratchet.
BRUCE SAVAGE SAND ASSOCIATES