One of my dogs, Cammie, was an enthusiastic sailboat crew member – hey, she once broke out of our summer cottage and swam out to join us just before we sailed off. She also seemed to like seaweed, and once jumped in the water down at the shore to grab some, and refusing to let go, simply paddled nowhere, trying to get back to shore. Another moment: coming about in pretty heavy wind, as we heeled over, into the drink she went. Well, the rescue went into motion. Only she was furiously swimming to the first land she saw. As we bore down, the only option was the “grab and haul” move. Lucky we were still young and dexterous.
But this is the upside down story. We had just come in, hitting the mooring as only the old salt could, and were folding sails up and such. Actually, that was the tough task. Big brother would skip it by pulling in the dinghy.
This day, Cammie was skittering around the deck and unfortunately hit the wet patch that pulling in the dinghy always created.
Right over the side. We paused in our duties to check things out, and there she was, upside down, about two feet under.
You can’t make this stuff up.
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