Karl’s Big Adventure… One day, we loaded up the truck

I used to live in Alaska with Mom and Dad. Life there was cold and bright and full of snow, which I loved more than anything. I’d run through drifts until my paws disappeared, bury my nose in it, and eat it just because I could. Sometimes enormous animals called moose wandered through the yard. I barked from the window to let them know I was in charge, but Mom always called me inside. She said moose must be respected. I never understood why. They just stood around chewing and looking unimpressed. I could have taken one. Probably.

Then one day, Mom and Dad started packing. Boxes piled up, the pickup truck filled, and the camper was hitched. I didn’t know what was happening, but when they said, “Let’s go, Karl,” I jumped in. I always go where they go.

We drove for what felt like forever through mountains, past rivers, across long, empty stretches of road. The air changed as we went. The sharp, icy smell of snow gave way to the heavy scent of earth and rain, then to something warm and salty that made my nose twitch. When we finally stopped, it was in Florida, where the air felt thick and hot. I wasn’t sure about it. Then I saw the ocean.

It was the biggest, bluest thing I’d ever seen. I charged straight into the waves. The water splashed against my chest, cool and alive, and I barked at it just to hear my voice bounce back. It tasted strange, salty, and bright. Mom told me not to drink it, but I did anyway. It seemed fine at the time, though later it turned out to be a terrible idea. I’ll spare you the details, but there was a lot of regret involved.

Not long after that, Mom and Dad bought a sailboat. A floating house seemed like a ridiculous idea to me, but once we were underway, I changed my mind. The boat smelled like salt and wind and adventure. I spent hours stretched out on deck, my nose in the breeze, watching the horizon. That’s when I met the dolphins.

The first time I saw them, I thought they were sleek gray dogs who had learned how to swim better than me. They appeared out of nowhere, cutting through the waves beside us, leaping and spinning like they were putting on a show. I barked hello, and they clicked and squeaked back. Sometimes they swam so close I could look right into their eyes. They always seemed to be laughing. Once, one even nudged one of my toys back toward the boat after I dropped it. From then on, I considered them friends.

Eventually, we sailed to the Bahamas. The water there was clearer than anything I’d ever seen, so transparent I could watch the fish gliding beneath the surface. The sand was soft and warm under my paws, and everything smelled of coconuts, salt, and sunshine. It was paradise.

The only problem was my chuck-it balls. I kept dropping them into the ocean, and the current would carry them away before Dad could reach them. The stores there didn’t have any replacements, which felt like a real loss. Then Dad handed me a coconut. It rolled and bounced just like a ball, but it never floated away. I chased that coconut everywhere. It was perfect.

We stayed in the Bahamas for nearly a year. I swam in turquoise water, napped in the shade, watched the dolphins whenever they came near, and ran on the beach until the sun went down. Sometimes I thought about Alaska, the snow, the silence, the moose I never got to confront properly, but it felt like another lifetime.

The Bahamas smelled like salt and freedom, and as far as I could tell, I was exactly where I was meant to be.

Oh, but some other stuff happened before that too.