Now… where did I leave off?
Oh right. Mom. And the weird pink beer.
It was Dad’s birthday, and we were in the beautiful West End. Warm sand between my toes. Salty air in my nose. New smells everywhere. New snacks everywhere.
Let’s talk about the food.
They have this thing called conch. It is kind of like fish… kind of like shrimp… kind of like heaven. My people let me try some and OH. MY. PAWS. Drool everywhere. Worth it.
You may not know this about me, but I am not really a “dog food” kind of guy. Mom is always nagging me about what I eat because of my “shakeys.” She calls it epilepsy. I do not remember much about it, but it makes me feel funky for a while, and I have to take a lot of pills.
The good news?
I get a treat every time I take my pills.
The better news?
I am a master level pill spitter.
I can tuck a pill into my mighty German Shepherd jowls and launch it later when no one is looking. Stealth mode activated. Unfortunately, Mom somehow always finds it. Then she calls me a turkey, which is rude, and I still have to take the pill.
Not cool, Mom. Not cool.
Anyway. Back to paradise.
That evening we went to a little tiki bar to watch the sunset. Humans love sunsets. I personally loved that the more pink beers Mom drank, the more birthday snacks accidentally fell into my mouth.
We walked home along the ocean and did our evening boat chores. Because even in paradise, sailors work.
Dad and First Mate Karl were in charge of securing the boat. We checked the lines, which for reasons unknown to me sailors refuse to call ropes.
It was windy, and we did not want to float away in the night. Floating away sounds adventurous, but apparently it is “bad seamanship.”
We pulled up the nets on the companionway, which is the big door that leads downstairs into our floating den. Otherwise, the bugs move in. They do not bother me much, but they really enjoy snacking on Mom.
All the hatches, which are windows but boat fancy, were open because it was hot and we do not have air conditioning.
We are real sailors. Not landlubbers.
Once chores were done, it was time for sleep. Good sleep is important because every day on a boat is a work day.
And tomorrow? Big job.
The water maker needed fixing.
Yes. We make our own water.
You are impressed. I can tell.
Morning Operations
I woke Dad up early to let him know it was time to begin the day.
He did not appreciate my leadership.
He told me to go back to sleep. That is not exactly what he said, but this is a family blog, so I cleaned it up.
Eventually, around 5 a.m., he got up. Since we were docked, he hooked up Sister and me for our morning walk. We handled important outside business. Then coffee happened. This is a sacred ritual.
Mom got up and immediately started working on her computer. Dad and First Mate Karl got to work on the water maker.
As I suspected, it only needed a few adjustments to the high pressure pump. Dad fired it up, and boom, we were making six gallons of water per hour.
The tiny machine feeds fresh water straight into our tank. It does not use much power, but it is enough for our crew. We use salt water whenever we can, but drinking and cooking require the good stuff.
Unlimited water on a boat feels like wizardry.
After I supervised the repairs, I took a strategic nap while Dad helped Mom with Tall People Tasks. She is short. He is tall. It is a system.
The Great Phone Mission
Next mission: trash disposal and phone card acquisition.
Mom needed a Bahamas phone number so she could stop using her U.S. phone, which she kept saying was costing a FORTUNE. She said it loudly. Repeatedly. I assume this is a human distress signal.
The town we were in was small and far from everything. We do not have a car. Our boat is our house and our car. Normally we use our dinghy, which is our mini boat car, but the water was too rough. Dinghies are brave, but not that brave.
We found a little shop with a SIM card that magically turned an extra phone into a Bahamas phone. I do not understand technology, but suddenly Mom had internet and stopped pacing.
Crisis averted.
Dad and I spent the afternoon polishing the brass portholes. It sounds glamorous. It is not. It is a lot of rubbing shiny circles.
I supervised. Expertly.
At the end of the long day, we headed to the beach.
Nose down in the wet sand.
Waves rolling in.
Salt spray on my whiskers.
I romped through the surf and may have snuck a sip when no one was looking. Sister sat in the water with that goofy, happy face she gets.
My people were happy.
We were all happy.
Fish swam by.
The sun melted into the ocean.
Just another perfect day in paradise.
First Mate Karl, out.