Sometimes a mutt needs all the luck he can get!

The lady in bronze was a friend and a protector of every
canine she met, and her memory lives on in local lore.

In the late 1800s, Newport Beach was hardly more than a sandy
spot on the map, known more for its tenacious fleas and swampy
marshes than for its Mediterranean beauty.

Still, an industrious few saw a bright future for this low spot by the
coast, and bit by bit the entrepreneurs and opportunists crept in.

One such man of vision was E.B. Doyle, an Irish immigrant from the
hardscrabble streets of Dublin. He came to America with an intense
drive to escape the poverty of his childhood, and a shrewd business
acumen that would earn him a small fortune.

Mr. Doyle brought his family west from New York in 1888, and
successfully invested in land, railroads and the burgeoning
shipping industry spawned by the recently dredged ports of San Pedro
and Long Beach.

In a very short time, E.B. was wealthy beyond his wildest dreams.
He built a fancy home on a hundred acre spread overlooking the
sparkling Pacific, raised pacing horses and, as many men yearn
to do, opened a bar.

The Doryman was a raucous oceanfront establishment, catering to
the blue collar workers helping to build and shape Orange County.
It opened early, closed late, and, according to all accounts,
ran at a horrible loss as Mr. Doyle extended credit to anybody who
needed a cold drink or a hot meal.

The bar was E.B.'s way of paying back those who had helped him
on his journey out of poverty.

But, back to our lady friend. Chelsea Doyle was E.B.'s only daughter,
a young lady with a beauty that radiated through society and
a singing voice that earned her praise in local theater.

Not content to live the cloistered life of a rich man's daughter,
Chelsea loved to visit the Doryman, mixing with the "riff-raff" and
even tending bar on occasion.

One evening, a very tipsy patron tied his dog to a post outside the
bar, and proceeded to drink enough to blot his memory. When the
bar closed, the man's cold and hungry dog was still patiently waiting
for a master that would never come.

Much to her father's dismay, Chelsea took pity on the mongrel,
bringing it home for a steak dinner and a much needed bath in
the family's grand tub.

The next morning, the dog greeted her with enthusiastic licks and
tail wags, dancing around the room and even making old E.B.
smile. Chelsea was hooked. She was soon a tireless voice and an
advocate for any lost canine, taking over a barn on the property
to house unwanted souls and paying for their food with money
earned at the bar.

She became famous for her kindness, and eventually went on
to found the first ASPCA chapter in Orange County.

This statue stands in front of a hotel that was built on the site
of Mr. Doyle's original Doryman. It depicts Chelsea, dressed for
work behind the bar, her right arm waving to a customer and
her left hand poised to pet a waiting dog.

Superstition says that if you let Chelsea hold your dog's leash,
your furry companion will be blessed by good luck and will live
a fulfilling and happy life.

It was long a goal of mine to visit this lovely lady, and I was
lucky enough to meet up with her on a foggy winter's night
as I strolled near the Newport pier.

Now, on my rambles I'm a free and untethered dog,
but I still wanted to honor Chelsea and her efforts
on behalf of OC's early mutts (and, of course, I hoped for some
of that good juju.)
Rather than pretend to hand her my reins I decided instead
to give her a big hug and a smooch and whisper a kind
word in her bronze ear.
I think it worked!

Somewhere, I'll bet ol' Chels is smiling and shaking her head.
A six foot mutt was probably not what she had in mind when
she started her rescue work, but I'm convinced that she would have
loved us furries anyway.

And you know what? I do feel lucky!

Now, if only I could get her to serve me a beer...


Photo by the talented and handsome