Saying goodbye to Carly, Hermosa Beach’s canine ‘Greeter of Neptune’

Carly, finally content, relaxes on the porch.

Carly, finally content, relaxes on the porch. Photos courtesy Jay Gleason

Jay Gleason long ago got used to being passed over for a dog. His dog Carly was his constant companion on the porch at his North Hermosa home on The Strand. Between the two, it was no contest who got more attention.  

“I’d be out on the porch having coffee. And so many people would come by, pet her, say ‘Hi Carly.’ And not say a word to me,” Gleason smirked.

Carly, a golden retriever who greeted passersby from Gleason’s home like a friendly faced gargoyle, passed away last week at the age of 15. Over the years she logged on the porch, The Strand and the sand, she became a familiar sight to passing joggers and beachcombers. But Carly was also a neighborhood fixture, a mascot and an emblem that admirers said brightened the lives of those who called the area home.

“Everybody was always keeping an eye out for her. She’s the greeter of Neptune,” said John Rogers, who lives a few blocks south of Gleason.

Carly was born Dec. 17, 2001. Gleason got her from a family in Palos Verdes with a dog that had just had a litter. He went to visit the family, and said it was immediately clear which one he wanted. He called her “Carly,” after an old college girlfriend. The name stuck.

The dog was, in Gleason’s words, “a true athlete,” with boundless energy. On moonlit nights, he would put Carly on a leash, hop on a skateboard and grab a laser pointer. The dog would follow the ever-advancing red dot along the concrete, sometimes tugging her owner from Neptune to the Manhattan Beach Pier and back half a dozen times or more.

Once the dog was finally exhausted, though, a deep sleep set in that was enough to inspire jealousy from others.

“I really liked the way she snores. Oh my gosh, if I could ever sleep like that,” mused Eric Fonoimoana, a local Realtor and Olympic Gold Medalist. Fonoimoana lives in the unit next to Gleason’s home, and often found himself wrapped up in a game of catch. “She led the true dog’s life.”

Gleason’s house is a regular gathering point for the crew of surfers that make Neptune their break. One of those surfers, Tyler Krikorian, recalled Carly as a “day-in-day-out” part of the community. Whether over morning coffee or afternoon beers, he said, the dog was a touching feature of daily life in the neighborhood.

“There are certain people or things within your daily routine that bring a great deal of happiness,” Krikorian said. “Jay and Carly are two of those simple things.”

Carly the dog, pleading for another toss of the tennis ball along the Strand.

Friends and neighbors recalled that Carly could most often be found striking a defiant pose on The Strand, waiting for people to play fetch with her. For those that didn’t throw far or hard enough, she would jump up and use her nose to bounce the ball back, as if to say “Is that all you got?”

“She fulfilled every stereotype of the golden retriever: sociable, she loved the ball, and was just gorgeous,” said Brian Boarst, one of Gleason’s former roommates.

Living so close to the beach, Gleason admits that he would often take Carly down along the sand in violation of Hermosa and Manhattan’s municipal codes. (“I guess I’m not going to get a ticket now,” he mused.) She would run back and forth from the crash of the surf, chased the occasional grunion, and gradually became more comfortable with the ocean. And, every now and then, the dog would go down to the shore in the middle of the night, and return with a dead fish, leaving it as a present the way a cat does with birds.

Carly had an unusual amount of freedom for a dog, but ran away only once. Years ago, Gleason was watching the Manhattan Beach Holiday Fireworks while a friend was minding his dog. An unusually concussive display startled Carly, and she bolted.

Distraught, Gleason returned and searched through the night with friends and neighbors from his tightknit North Hermosa community. In the morning, Gleason got a call from Beach Cities Orthopedics: an office attendant had found her while opening up early the next morning.

She was in good spirits when Gleason picked her up, and he was relieved to have her back home. He couldn’t help but laugh at how Carly’s seemingly boundless energy had nearly been the cause of their separation. Neighbors, though, wonder whether an animal that seemingly everyone cared for could ever really be considered “lost.”

“She was the mayor of this area,” Fonoimoana said. “It seemed like everyone passing by had a treat saved for her.”

Despite her active nature, health problems plagued the dog toward the end of her life. Carly suffered from a recurring tumor in her leg, with Gleason taking her in for surgery several times. Late in life, physicians warned that the leg would have to be amputated, which Gleason feared would crush the spirit of the active dog. Carly kept her leg, but the tumors returned, wrapping into her spine and hips and causing the muscles of the her lower body to atrophy.

Gleason knew it was time. He arranged for her to be put down at his home. Last Wednesday morning, the day the doctor was to come, Gleason wrapped Carly in a blanket, filled a thermos with coffee, and carried her down to the beach.

“I said some prayers down on the sand. I wanted her to see the ocean one last time,” Gleason said.

Among those to have fallen for Carly is Hermosa resident Tracy Taw. She lived in the house Gleason lives in now just before he moved in, and got know Carly over the years. For Taw, Carly was proof that Hermosa remains a small town, with one animal capable of unifying so many lives.

“She belonged to Jay. Well, she was Jay’s world, but she was everybody’s dog,” she said.

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