Have you ever felt the pit of your stomach rise to the back of your throat? Has your heart ever raced and pounded in your chest so loud that it drowned out all else around you? Has a thought so terrible that’s beyond comprehension flooded your mind until you’re fallen into a pit of despair? That was me Thursday evening.
We went sailing with friends and rafted up with another Nonsuch for a dinner on the water offshore of Bachman’s Beach. Our pups were running back and forth the two boats with not a fear among them. Poodles are water dogs and have webbed feet so we aren’t overly concerned if one falls in the water. We would crawl naked through fire to save them and to date we haven’t had any near misses. We plan to get netting to surround the boat along the stanchions but until that happens we watch them closely. They never stray far from mom as I seem to be the center of their universe.
We broke bread on our boat and then went to the other one to have desert. We dined and socialized until the sun sank behind the horizon. It was a beautiful night, a bit cool but extremely comfortable. Mary sat up in the bow wrapped in polar fleece, watching the Mahone Bay lights grow closer while the moon illuminate our way. We both motored home and it was late when we moored.
Gregg rowed our guests to shore while I cleaned up. Our tender is small and will only hold so many people, pups and picnic coolers at one time. When he came back to the boat we puttered a bit, not wanting to leave our Sea Cottage. There weren’t any mosquitoes out last evening so that made it even harder to leave. If not for the fact that we didn’t have jammies and dental floss and tooth brushes we might have stayed put for the night.
We turn on the stereo system and we listened to wooden boat songs while we worked. At some point I realized that Fiz wasn’t with us. We looked for her in the spots she likes to sleep but she was not below. I rushed up on deck and did a quick scan and started calling her name. It was dark up there without lights in the cockpit area but enough moonlight to see she wasn’t there. I grabbed a flashlight and went to the bow while Gregg shined his on the water to the sides and back of the boat. My heart was in my throat. My precious Fiz might have fallen off and was either swimming and trying to stay afloat or had drowned. I saw a mound and my heart sank but on closer inspection it was a large patch of a golden coloured sea grass floating on the water. We are calling her name and hear nothing. The night was as still as one of those snow globes you shake and watch the flakes flutter to the bottom. It was close to 1:00 am. No lights were on in the houses on shore, the water was quiet, if anyone was staying on their boat they were asleep. There wasn’t a breath of wind, the water was smooth as glass and not a car on the highway so you could hear a pin drop.
Then I heard the voice of an angel. “She’s here!”, Gregg said. She was lying on the seat behind the binnacle, hidden from view because of the wheel and radar instruments, unconcerned that we had been calling her. She was probably watching us thinking, for goodness sake you goofs, are you blind?
Joy washed over the both of us although for me it was a slower process. I’m the queen of worry and my overactive imagination had drifted to several scenarios, all of which weren’t good for any of us. The panic I felt was slow to leave and it kept me awake for an hour or two when we finally reached home and crawled in bed. In between beating myself up for being careless with one of the most precious babies in my life, I knew we were horseshoe lucky and mighty thankful for it.
This was an important lesson learned and happily, from a positive outcome. We are going to have to keep close eye on our Fiz. She’s fearless that one. She is the one climbing on every surface, following us everywhere we go and is the only one to attempt going up the steep companionway steps. She figured out how to do it on her own. She jumps on the aft berth mattress and then easily clears the last step to the companionway door. The rest of our guys wait to be lifted through the doorway, as they should. We will now have to watch our Miss Fiz with her independent ways.
We went sailing with friends and rafted up with another Nonsuch for a dinner on the water offshore of Bachman’s Beach. Our pups were running back and forth the two boats with not a fear among them. Poodles are water dogs and have webbed feet so we aren’t overly concerned if one falls in the water. We would crawl naked through fire to save them and to date we haven’t had any near misses. We plan to get netting to surround the boat along the stanchions but until that happens we watch them closely. They never stray far from mom as I seem to be the center of their universe.
We broke bread on our boat and then went to the other one to have desert. We dined and socialized until the sun sank behind the horizon. It was a beautiful night, a bit cool but extremely comfortable. Mary sat up in the bow wrapped in polar fleece, watching the Mahone Bay lights grow closer while the moon illuminate our way. We both motored home and it was late when we moored.
Gregg rowed our guests to shore while I cleaned up. Our tender is small and will only hold so many people, pups and picnic coolers at one time. When he came back to the boat we puttered a bit, not wanting to leave our Sea Cottage. There weren’t any mosquitoes out last evening so that made it even harder to leave. If not for the fact that we didn’t have jammies and dental floss and tooth brushes we might have stayed put for the night.
We turn on the stereo system and we listened to wooden boat songs while we worked. At some point I realized that Fiz wasn’t with us. We looked for her in the spots she likes to sleep but she was not below. I rushed up on deck and did a quick scan and started calling her name. It was dark up there without lights in the cockpit area but enough moonlight to see she wasn’t there. I grabbed a flashlight and went to the bow while Gregg shined his on the water to the sides and back of the boat. My heart was in my throat. My precious Fiz might have fallen off and was either swimming and trying to stay afloat or had drowned. I saw a mound and my heart sank but on closer inspection it was a large patch of a golden coloured sea grass floating on the water. We are calling her name and hear nothing. The night was as still as one of those snow globes you shake and watch the flakes flutter to the bottom. It was close to 1:00 am. No lights were on in the houses on shore, the water was quiet, if anyone was staying on their boat they were asleep. There wasn’t a breath of wind, the water was smooth as glass and not a car on the highway so you could hear a pin drop.
Then I heard the voice of an angel. “She’s here!”, Gregg said. She was lying on the seat behind the binnacle, hidden from view because of the wheel and radar instruments, unconcerned that we had been calling her. She was probably watching us thinking, for goodness sake you goofs, are you blind?
Joy washed over the both of us although for me it was a slower process. I’m the queen of worry and my overactive imagination had drifted to several scenarios, all of which weren’t good for any of us. The panic I felt was slow to leave and it kept me awake for an hour or two when we finally reached home and crawled in bed. In between beating myself up for being careless with one of the most precious babies in my life, I knew we were horseshoe lucky and mighty thankful for it.
This was an important lesson learned and happily, from a positive outcome. We are going to have to keep close eye on our Fiz. She’s fearless that one. She is the one climbing on every surface, following us everywhere we go and is the only one to attempt going up the steep companionway steps. She figured out how to do it on her own. She jumps on the aft berth mattress and then easily clears the last step to the companionway door. The rest of our guys wait to be lifted through the doorway, as they should. We will now have to watch our Miss Fiz with her independent ways.
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