The next day, Dad and I finished chores and he asked Mom if she was ready to go. Mom only worked half a day because it was Saturday. She said yes.
He didn’t ask me.
Because everyone knows. I am always ready to go.
I started my insistent, high-pitched Shepherd whining. If you are not lucky enough to have a Shep in your life, we have a gift for loud, glass-breaking whining. The kind that could double as a train whistle. It gets on your nerves but you love us anyway. As though anyone could possibly forget we are here. I was bouncing up and down, just in case anyone needed visual confirmation. Ready to go. Wherever we were going. Didn’t matter. I was ready for that place.
We all looked at Sugar. She was stretched out across the cockpit bench, reclining, half asleep. She slowly lifted her head with a look that said: I don’t think so, people. Dad asked, “Are you sure?” She put her head back down. So we left her to her nap and headed off down the dock. Sister Sugar plays hard and naps hard. It’s her thing.
Speaking of playing, we jumped on the golf cart and zipped down the road.
The roads were small. Some not even wide enough for cars. Most people used golf carts or tiny vans, not the full-sized cars and trucks we have back home or on the big islands like Great Abaco. Green Turtle Cay is about three miles long and one and a half miles wide. You don’t need a big car for that. The wind tickled my ear hairs.
There were wild chickens everywhere. Their babies too. Nests right by the side of the road. But the most interesting part, the best smelling part, were these other animals I had never encountered before. Dad wouldn’t let me meet them up close. Rude. He said they were called pigs. They were running all over the place. He said they live there. I think the pigs had their own chickens because they were all running around together. I would like to have my own chicken. I am still working on how to make that happen.
We passed several pigs and chickens on our winding way to New Plymouth, because Mom insisted we drive down every curvy road to “see what was down there.” Because the island is so skinny, the ocean was down most of them. Dad wouldn’t let me swim because we were going to town, but he said I could on the way back. So I did not pout. He didn’t say no. He said wait. Wait is not a no. Wait is more like a maybe. And I can work with a maybe.
We found the other marina Mom had mentioned along the way. We couldn’t get in because our boat has too big of a belly. Dad calls it a draft, the part of the boat that sits under the water. In this marina, it would’ve hit the bottom. So we kept moving, and before long, there it was.
Finally, after what felt like hours and hours, we got to town. We came up over a tall hill above New Plymouth and there was a big sign announcing itself. Like a giant name tag. It’s the only town on the island, so the sign seemed a little unnecessary to me. But whatever. I’m a dog. I don’t make the signs.
People were everywhere putting up Christmas decorations. Everyone was happy and excited, and very surprised to see me sitting between Mom and Dad on the cart. I don’t think they had ever seen a Shepherd before. Most smiled. Some pointed and giggled. I get that a lot. Mom OOOOHHHed at the buildings. Colorful. Beautiful. People were out painting, fixing, cleaning. The whole town was busy.
But there was also this. There was a lot of visible damage still remaining from Hurricane Dorian. Some buildings were just piles of rock. Some were missing roofs, or entire walls. Some had big Xs painted on the doors. Dad said it had hit this area especially hard. I don’t know much about hurricanes. But I know I don’t ever want to meet one.
As long as I stayed on the cart, no one was afraid of me. Dad said I couldn’t go in the stores without permission, which I didn’t love, but I agreed to guard the cart. It was a rental, after all. He clipped my leash to it so it couldn’t get away. Mom and Dad went into the grocery store called Sid’s. When they came out they had two big bags of groceries and news. They had ordered a bag of kibble.
Ordered?
Mom explained it had to be brought in from the big island. The stores here only carry food for little dogs. People on the islands don’t have big dogs like Sister and me, and a four-pound bag isn’t more than a snack for us. Well. For Sister, anyway. I don’t eat much. Mom and Dad tease me about it. I’m skinny and not particularly interested in food. It’s not that I’m not hungry, I just have other things to attend to. Also, according to Mom, my epilepsy has something to do with food allergies or toxins or something. All I know is: one of my favorite phrases is I’M NOT EATING THAT.
After Sid’s, we made our way down to the delivery dock, where a supply barge happened to be unloading right then. Big pallets, lifted off the ship and hauled up the dock. It was very satisfying to watch. Dad spotted that the local liquor store had a bar and grill, ran in, and came back with hamburgers. We had lunch and watched the dock workers. I did not refuse to eat the hamburger.
Dad said it was time to go. We headed back toward the marina, wind in my fur, zipping down the road. We dropped Mom at the boat, and Dad and I returned the cart because the rental was over. I was sad about this until he said we could walk to the beach. Immediately not sad. We went back to get Mom and Sister.
Sister didn’t miss the smell of hamburger on my breath. Not for one second. But the moment she heard “beach,” she filed that information away for later, hauled herself up off the cockpit bench where she was still sleeping, and just like that, we were all together again, heading off for an afternoon swim.
It turned out to be a great day. But then, they usually do, when your people are around. There is something about being on that boat together, all four of us, that makes even ordinary moments feel like something worth remembering. The wind. The water. The smell of salt and sunscreen and hamburger breath. I don’t take any of it for granted. Not one bit.
Every day I get to spend with my people is a great day.
Tune in next time for a Shep overboard emergency.
Karl out.