"All I ever heard, Redemption Songs"

-Bob Marley,  Redemption Song

The commander got a dog. Another dog. Or rather the commanders faithful crew got the dog…..another dog.

The first dog died.

And Kim and Savannah, if you read this, I know how it is to lose a critter.

Now don’t get me wrong. I still don’t think canines have any quarter on a boat (and I know there are chingos who would disagree). So maybe I better rephrase that…canines have no quarter on my boat. And after all, I have become sort of a feline person over the past few years. You see one does not own a cat….rather the cat owns a person, and I know for a fact they make good shipmates. Our cat is fixin to find out in short order too….

But this entry is not meant to be a canine versus feline debate, or the justifications thereof.

The last dog I owned (and loved) was a German Shorthaired pointer named Niko. He was my constant companion and we hunted together for several years during my quail slaughtering phase. Unfortunately, he was the victim, collateral, of a very bloody divorce. It wasn’t another year afterwards in the care of some stranger that Niko died, heart problems too. A broken heart.

I know how it is.

So I vowed to never own another dog after that.

I’ve told a tall tale already about fishing for halibut in Kodiak Alaska. At that time I had a big old dog. A Husky-Wolf cross. A gentle spirited, tequila drinking dog named Martell.

This big awkward dog DID belong on a boat, and on the docks.

One of things about dogs is their penchant for leaving bombs wherever, just picking a convenient spot and depositing their little gift. Cats are a lot tidier in my estimation, having the good sense to bury their excretory products.

Martell however was the exception to the rule. From the first time I even took him out on the docks, if there was no time for him to get to some outdoorsy-poop-arena he would just put his fantail over the side and grace the harbor with a turdboat, knowing that the strong tides and current would pull it out to the open sea. He was the cleanest dog I have ever known. Only problem was that dam tequila habit.

His -ahem- anal attitude towards cleanliness extended to the boat too. He'd just put his stern over the stern and let loose....

Now that is a dog worth owning. One like that can come aboard anytime.

AND he had the good sense to do this (most of the time) outside the three mile limit, thus upholding Marine Sanitation Laws.