Howdy everybody, it’s me, Karl.
I am here to tell you more about when I lived in the Bahamas. Last time we were at Green Turtle Cay, staying at the marina. It was getting close to Turkey Day. The Bahamian people do not celebrate Turkey Day. Mom checked the store in town. Chicken: yes. Turkeys: no. Dad made reservations at the marina restaurant for a special American Thanksgiving dinner. I was extremely supportive of this plan. I love turkey. This is not up for debate.
It was then that Dad announced we needed to go on a very important mission. A beer run. Mom wanted her weird pink beer, and we had better not come back without it. Those were essentially the terms of our departure.
The marina store was too expensive for beer. So we walked. Dad had his big floppy bucket hat and the white stuff on his nose. I had my dignity and my excellent nose. We set off right after morning chores with a cart to haul back the goods.
It was HOT. No wind. The sun had opinions. About halfway there we stopped under a tree and had water. Dad was red and sweaty. I was panting. We stopped to visit some chickens and one small pig. He smelled incredible. I wanted to have a longer conversation but Dad kept saying come on Karl so I had to go. Very rude.
The pig seemed disappointed too.
We finally arrived at the store. Dad was going to tie my leash to the railing outside like I was some kind of common bicycle, but the nice lady inside said that handsome could come in. She meant me, obviously. I went straight to her because she clearly had excellent taste. Dad negotiated the beer situation with the man working there while I held court at the counter. She had treats behind the counter. I was unavailable for the rest of the transaction.
When Dad went to pay, the lady looked outside at his loaded cart and said, You aren’t walking with that, are you? Dad said yes. She called over her husband. Turns out they were a married couple who had moved from the U.S. and bought the store. Very nice people. Outstanding taste in Sheps.
The man said, jump in my truck, I’ll run you back.
Then Dad said he didn’t want me to get hair all over the man’s truck.
I want you to sit with that for a moment.
Hair. All over the truck. As if I shed like some kind of commoner. If I occasionally release a few hairs it is due to inadequate grooming on my caregivers’ part. We all know where the fault lies. The man, a genuinely excellent human, said a little hair never hurt anyone. We loaded the beer and the cart and I jumped in the back seat. I stuck my head out the window. Salt air. Sun on my face. Wind filling my magnificent jowls.
I highly recommend it.
We were back at the marina in minutes. No beach. Just unloading boxes of beer while I supervised and Mom worked on her computer and Sister slept. Shocking. Not.
We spent the rest of the afternoon rewiring electronics. Salt water and electronics do not mix, apparently, so things require constant fixing. I supervised with great focus and professional judgment. At some point a bee decided to insert himself into my business. I warned him. Dad warned me. Stop it Karl. You don’t want to mess with that thing.
Dad, please. He doesn’t want to mess with me.
Dad gave me a look that said “whatever.”
Fine. I bit him.
He bit back.
OUCH.
I squealed. I jumped. Dad said, I told you. I had an OUCHIE and I needed everyone to know about it immediately. Dad cuddled me and checked my mouth. Mom appeared, because she had apparently heard me from clear across the boat, which honestly tracks. She was worried it might have been a wasp and could trigger a seizure. She got me an ice cube and a pill.
Mom tried to keep me inside with her. I made myself what she called “a pain in her butt” until she let me back outside with Dad.
Score one for Karl.
The ouchie faded. We finished the job. Dad said it was time to make dinner.
It had been a big day. The good kind of big, full of new people, a magical truck ride, important bee-related lessons, and the comfort of being exactly where I belonged.
With my people. On my boat.
Karl out.