The Boykin Bash
Charleston for the Boykin Bash
On Saturday, Chad and I drove down to Charleston for the Boykin Bash, an annual event benefiting the Boykin Spaniel Rescue Society. I say “drove” because, ideally, Chad would have flown us down, but the weather refused to cooperate. And so, like normies, we endured the two-and-a-half-hour drive.
Despite being a lifelong French Bulldog devotee, I somehow ended up with a Boykin Spaniel. Technically, she was an inheritance, though most people don’t use that word when describing an energetic, neurotic, Velcro-like dog. But in the years since she arrived—at eight months old, a gangly brown mass of insecurity—I’ve come to see her for what she truly is: a gift. She forces me outside every day, rain or shine, and thanks to her relentless enthusiasm for movement, I now walk five miles a day. My father’s legacy, it turns out, is good cardiovascular health.
For every French Bulldog Facebook group I belong to, there is an equal number of Little Brown Dog (LBD) groups. And if you think French Bulldog owners are insane, let me introduce you to the Boykin Spaniel people. There are two factions: those who keep them as house pets and those who believe they should exist solely as hunting dogs. These two camps do not mix well. One side posts photos of Boykins wearing birthday hats, while the other passionately argues that their dogs would rather be retrieving ducks from a swamp than wearing a tutu. Personally, I find the house pet group to be a little more fun.
The Boykin Bash was held at Firefly Distillery. Since our weekend was wide open, we decided to go. As we pulled up, I was met with a sight both mesmerizing and heartwarming: a sea of little brown dogs, all remarkably similar yet distinctly different. There were blockheaded males, various shades of chocolate brown, differing degrees of leg feathering, and top knots ranging from mild waves to full-blown curls. All of them wiggling, all of them waiting for someone—anyone—to throw a ball (preferable a Chuck-It).
I did not bring Carmen. Introducing her to a mob of her kind felt like an experiment in chaos. She’s not a fan of strange dogs approaching her, and the last thing I wanted was for her to have a breakdown in the middle of a pack of enthusiastic LBDs. But after seeing how much space there was for them to run, I decided that next year, we’ll bring her. Maybe, there are good restaurants in Charleston.
