Coconut Grove miniature disasters

Finding palm trees somewhere like the wilderness of the pacific northwest was something of an anomaly (not that Dingo knew what a palm tree even was), sort of like finding a swimsuit store in the local mall when its November and you can't fathom why the hell they're having a sale, like, how is that equitable? Who buys swimsuits in the middle of frigid tit season?

Dingo didn't know what a palm tree was; he didn't know what the coconuts were either, but he'd found one while skulking around beneath the strange trees and was busy rolling it around in the almost-too-cold sand. He'd hoped to find shelter among the trees when the rain started (it wasn't much rain, but he was a thin-coated wuss) and that hadn't worked out, so now he was trying to warm up his muscles with a little game. The coconut was pretty solid, and it sounded like there was something sloshing around inside of it; had Dingo been smarter, maybe he'd try to break it open and fill his empty belly — nah, he wasn't that kinda person.

Watching the orb-like seed roll down one hill of sand after another was satisfying enough, until it rolled too far and went careening away. He kept up with it, until the coconut dropped in to a tide pool and was submerged. He came up to its last-seen-position and loomed over the water, watching his reflection dumbly, as if staring would bring it back.

It didn't.

So he scoffed, bat his lashes at himself a little (he couldn't resist, with a mug like that), and began to mosey on.