The Reluctant Adventures of Captain Hastings the Boat Dog
No Cheese Farm Today, and Hastings Endures More Trials
May 26th, Biscayne Bay
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| On Our Way, at a Normal Speed, Before the Trouble. |
It’s up to me, the only reliable, sensible creature aboard to catch you up on the latest round of suffering.
My humans can be quite sweet, really. This morning they said "we want to take you to the sandbar”. I protested that it wasn’t necessary, I was quite happy laying in the shade as opposed to marching through wet water and dodging urchins. They insisted, and I consented as I do love a good dinghy ride. Of course I impressed upon them to take all necessary safety precautions; at the very least an extra batch of brownies and a block of cheese. They assured me we were just going to the sand bar 300 yards away, and it was going to be lovely. They could swim there and back, and the only reason for the dinghy was for my comfort. All this talk about my comfort, my happiness, and adventures for my sake, is bewildering. Anytime someone says “I’m doing this for you” be afraid. Be very afraid.
We arrived at the sandbar at low tide; however, it was not wadable for me. They could have foreseen this if they cared to use their noggins, but as is often the case, they didn’t care to. I choose not to swim if it can be avoided. It is demeaning and embarrassing to have to doggy paddle through the water like a dog.
The humans then came up with the brilliant idea of going to the park; again, "for my sake", so I can walk. Walking on land is an opportunity to find the cheese farm, or at least meet other humans who might have better provisions and air conditioning. We got to land, wonderful land, and had a lovely walk. No cheese farm this time. However, when it was time to go home, the trusty engine wouldn’t start. Most dearest darling daddy worked at it for 45 minutes under my watchful eye. The long haired interloper suggested paddling home. There were a number of other options available, had only standard safety protocols been followed. The humans could have brought a phone and used it to call a tow boat. The humans could have brought their rowing seat so they could row. They could have brought chicken, cheese, and brownies to sustain me while I embarked on the relentless task of being an oar master. As you might have guessed, they did none of these things.
They paddled, one on each side. Dearest darling daddy, being more wonderful in every way, paddled better, which caused the boat to row in a circular motion. I attempted to help by standing on the tube and glaring at the long hair interloper, imploring her to be more like dearest darling daddy. This worryingly slow ordeal went on for quite some time. Dearest darling daddy then decided to make a rowing seat out of the fuel can and lifejackets. This scheme bypassed the weak link (we shan’t point out her name) and improved our dire situation. I asked for cheese to sustain me. They tried to give me water instead. Foul muck! We’re surrounded by water. Water is the problem. Water is the enemy. It is always water that prevents me from finding my cheese farm. I hate water!
Then, like a miracle, rescuers appeared on a jet ski! Like a dream, they addressed me! Oh, guardian angels! Oh, bastions of hope! They were sitting in their house (a wonderful looking looking house that definitely had air conditioning, and possibly had a cheese farm out back) and said they saw this cute dog (me!) and had to come over and say hello! I’m the best, cutest, dog they’ve ever seen. Finally, some humans with some sense! I leaned as far over as possible and offered kisses and requested asylum. Sure, these humans I’m with will probably get swept to sea without my supervision, but they bring these things on themselves, they really do. And yet nothing happens. I am not on most wonderful humans jet ski, but I am still on this useless hunk of junk with no air conditioning and no cheese. Then the guardian angels say, "enjoy the rest of your day! Thanks for the kisses!" and ski off. Back to their house. Without me. I am baffled, truly baffled by this experience. Can’t they tell I’m being traumatized? Did they think this ridiculous rowing ordeal looked normal? How is enjoying the rest of our day even a remote possibility when we can’t possibly survive another 5 minutes in this hell of the humans own making?
I am now more hopeless than before. The long haired interloper takes over rowing and immediately lists her own pathetic litany of complaints: her legs are hot, she has a blister, now there’s salt water in the blister and it hurts. Why she shares these minor concerns when my life is flashing before me, and my rescuers are sitting in air conditioning eating blocks of cheese, and I’m still out here, is beyond me.
We get to the sandbar. The humans get off and swim - and then, as if my afflictions have not already peaked, force me to swim. "It’s for your own good old chap", they say. My own good! The nerve! “Don’t you feel better?” No! No, I most certainly do not.
Unaccountably, we make it back to the boat. I am traumatized and collapse on the nearest cushion. The humans seem bizarrely cheery, as if energized by adversity. “What larks!” they say, as they ruin lunch by making it entirely out of vile weeds. Life is so tragic; there is such hope on the horizon, and yet such immediate despair. The only thing for me to do is nap, and dream of jet skis, and air conditioning, and cheese.
Editors note: The distance traveled may have been miles and hours on four paws and in dog time, but was only a mile and twenty minutes. We did have a phone on us, but Matt can never find anything in his bag, and we didn’t look for it as a few moments of exercise won’t hurt us. We’ll be sure to remember the brownies and cheese next time.
Have you ever left important items at home, like a phone? Have a found a good solution to the bottomless pit bag syndrome? Let us know in the comments!
8 comments
Hastings, oh how you crack me up! Between you and me, I think you should stage a mutiny and take over writing this blog full-time :-)
ReplyDeleteHonestly, I don't know how you stand living with those two, especially when they don't have the proper planning skills required - like being prepared with brownies at all times.
Well, with all the problems they cause themselves and then have to fix, I'm the only one with time and energy to write!
DeleteWhen I get to the cheese farm, I'm going to have some of these brownies. The humans say they are bad for me, but since they say vile weeds are good for me they are clearly not to be trusted!
Woof, Hastings.
Hastings: I'm so thankful I had a chance to meet you a few weeks ago before your humans took you away! What I didn't realize at the time is that you are an excellent writer! Did you take honors English and composition in school?? Your descriptive vocabulary and sentence structure is dog-gone amazing! I encourage to keep writing and then compile your posts to publish in a book! It will be a best seller, I'm sure of it! Then, with all the money you make from the book you can ditch your humans and live a life of luxury on solid ground! All the best to you! Stay strong!
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for your kind words! I hope this is my last post of suffering and I will find the cheese farm tomorrow. That wouldn't make much of a book. If my sufferings continue, and I have to keep reporting them, well- I may die from sheer terror and misery before the publication! I think it's a time for a nap! - Kisses, Hasty
DeletePoor Hastings! We could trade places: you can have my job, house complete with endless laudry and dishes, children, and an increasing number of "stray" cats. I'll relieve you of the burden of boat life...I'd fit in better: as a human I won't be forced to drink water, I can drink gin!
ReplyDeleteWell, there's no need to do laundry. Dishes can be licked. The children and I would not be brushing our hair or showering or going to sccool, but is that an issue? Work may be a problem as I'm not qualified, but being cute usually works just as well for me! Woof, Hastings.
DeletePS- is there a cheese delivery service available at your house?
Dear Long Haired Interloper, word of advice: carry cheese with you secretly and knock Dearest Daddy down to "oh, it's you again " status. You won't regret it! 😉
ReplyDeleteYeah, DDD needs to be "the other one". The only time I'm the chosen one is during storms - my lap is where Hastings wants to be! -Lucy
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