Being in your early teens is tough.
Suddenly, everything about you is changing.
Being cool becomes your primary goal.
"Ohmygwad, I can't wear that! What if Brian (or Stacey) sees me?"

Trust me, I know.
I remember what it was like to be 13 years old.
Yes, we did have indoor plumbing back then...

Soon, however, you mature and realize that being cool
is less important than having cool stuff.
Then you have to go to work and try to pay for your cool stuff.
That leaves very little time to worry about being cool.
Then you buy a fursuit and abandon all hopes of being cool.
Ever.

I stumbled across this clan of uber-cool teens as I was making
my rounds on the pier. If you ever want to know what it's like to
be invisible, try to interact with a group of 14 year olds while you
are in fursuit.

I leaned over the rail and watched a surfer catch a terrific left, riding
one of Huntington Beach's mushiest breaks like he meant it,
but getting shut out early.
I whistled quietly and said "Goofy footed surfers don't stand a chance
here. It'd be like me trying to win first place in a cat show."

An uncomfortable silence ensued. A gull flew overhead and let go of a
bomb, narrowly missing my left ear.
"Any of you guys surf?" I asked.
The kid in the middle said something muffled to his buds and they
all laughed. I decided to laugh, too.
That freaked them out.

A few more waves rolled in and a few more minutes ticked by.
I knew these kids were wishing I would retreat, before their force field
of cool was shattered for good.

Finaly, the kid on my left spoke up.
"Whatcha' supposed to be, Snoopy or sumthin'?"
His cohorts giggled.
"Nope," I said. "I'm just a random mutt."
The kid looked at me with a raised eyebrow.
"Well then, Mr. Random Dog, why don't you go find a random
fire hydrant to pee on."

His friends began to laugh but I beat them to it.
What a great line. Maybe I should hire him to write for me.
I think he was offended that I was amused.
"Shoot, you ain't a real dog anyway," He said. "Real dogs ain't allowed
on the pier. Can't you read the signs?"
I assured him that I knew the mayor and that we were cool.
He looked me in the plastic eyes and shook his head.
"My friend," I chuckled, "I'm going to put you in my journal.
You are awesome"

His friends turned and left.
If I thought he was awesome, then clearly he couldn't be.
He frowned as his compadres left him alone with the gabby canine.
"Shoot, you probably can't even write. Real dogs don't have no journals."
Then he froze as he realized his mistake. He knew I had him.

"So, you're saying that I'm real now?" I asked innocently.
"No..." He fumbled for words.
"I meant that a dog like you can't hold a pen to write."
I smiled. "OK, I admit it, I can't hold a pen. I am a real dog."
Checkmate.

Game over, his coolness barrier now a memory, he
gave me a winning smile.
"I guess you could be real," he said. "You're as stubborn as my dog."

I'd pay money to see kids smile like that more often.

As I left him alone to rebuild his aura, I was grateful to be let into
his teenage fortress of cool, even if just for a moment.
I continued on, giving happy paws to the humans and keeping
an eye out for gulls.

...And watching for another cool group to infiltrate.