Sea Dog

by Dayle Gaetz

  I felt worse than lonely. I felt terrible. “Poor little pup,” I whispered. “She must be lonely. Maybe she’s looking for her mother. I should never have left her all alone. She must have climbed the ladder. She must have fallen overboard. I didn’t even hear a splash.”

  I turned Lady Tia’s nose into the wind. Her mainsail flapped. Lady Tia stood dead in the water.

  I stood up and searched the white-flecked sea. “Nothing but driftwood and seaweed pulled loose by the storm. No sign of a little black puppy.” I knew she must be tired. She would not last long in that cold water.

  The sea looked empty. Lonely and empty and sad. But I couldn’t give up. I fixed the tiller in place. Then I crept over the deck to the mast. I pulled the line to raise the jib sail. The jib rose up and up. It flapped in the wind.

  I crept back to the tiller. I pulled the lines to make both sails puff out. Crash! The boom swung over my head. Lady Tia bounded over the waves like a deer in a meadow.

  I sat down to steer Lady Tia in a big circle. As I steered I searched the waves for a tiny black speck. But I didn’t hold out much hope. Too much time had passed.

  Chunks of driftwood bobbed up and down. Seaweed tangled together. Cold salt spray tickled my face. Water gurgled around Lady Tia. The rigging creaked and groaned.

  And yipped.

  “Now, Lady Tia, there’s a sound you never made before,” I said.

  Yip!

  The yip was weak, but my ears were good. I knew it did not come from Lady Tia.

  It came from the sea. I studied the tangled seaweed. I looked at the driftwood. Some pieces were as small as a twig. Some were as big as a tree. One piece was wide and flat. It floated low in the water. Long brown kelp and thin green eelgrass covered it. The seaweed moved ever so slightly.

  “Aha!” I cried. “Now, aren’t you a smart little pup?”

  I turned Lady Tia into the wind. She stopped dead in the water. The flat chunk of driftwood floated closer.

  I leaned over the side.

  Chapter Seven

  I leaned over so far my fingers touched the water. I leaned so far I almost fell overboard.

  The driftwood bumped against Lady Tia’s shiny white hull. It bobbed up and down. It drifted close to my hands. “A-ha!” I scooped it out of the water.

  It was a huge clump of dripping wet seaweed. I laid it on deck and lifted handfuls of seaweed. I tossed the seaweed overboard. Underneath was a wide flat board. On the board was a very tiny, very wet puppy.

  The puppy’s eyes were closed tight. The tip of her little pink tongue hung out from her mouth. The puppy didn’t move.

  “Oh, Puppy,” I said. “I am so sorry. I should never have left you alone. I should never have let you fall overboard.”

  Very gently I picked up the puppy. I put her on my lap and rubbed her tummy. Water trickled from her mouth. She shivered.

  This was a good sign and a bad sign. It meant the pup was still alive, but she was very cold. I needed to warm her quickly. So I took off my wool sweater. I rubbed the pup all over. Then I tucked her inside my shirt. She snuggled against my stomach.

  “Ugh!” I said to the cold wet pup. “You are as cold as the sea.”

  I was cold too. So I put on my damp wool sweater. I turned Lady Tia around.

  “Please live,” I whispered to the pup. “I’ll take you home and warm you up.” The pup snuggled close, wet and cold and shivering.

  As soon as I tied up Lady Tia, I started along the dock. With both hands I clutched that cold little lump against my stomach. “We’re almost back to my car,” I whispered. “I’ll turn on the heater, and you’ll soon be warm.”

  A woman on the dock gave me a strange look. “Hey, Cap’n Bill,” she said. “Why are you talking to your stomach?”

  “I need to hurry home,” I told her.

  I walked across the parking lot. My sweater was wet. I smelled like seaweed.

  “We’re here,” I whispered.

  A man in the parking lot gave me a strange look. “Hey, Cap’n Bill,” he said. “Why is your stomach moving?”

  “I need to hurry home,” I told him.

  On the way home that little wet bundle lay very still. “Please live,” I whispered. “I promise to take good care of you.”

  At home I lifted my sweater. I untucked my shirt. I pulled out a little black bundle.

  The pup shivered.

  I phoned the vet. She told me what to do.

  I laid the pup on a hot water bottle. I wrapped warm towels around her. I held her on my lap. Then I heard a strange sound. “Is that your rumbly tummy?”

  I warmed some milk, but she wouldn’t drink. Then I had an idea.

  I carried the pup to the house next door. A big family lives there.

  “Hi, Bill,” the mother said.

  “Do you have a baby bottle?” I asked.

  “What a cute little pup!” she said. “Does it have a name?”

  I thought for a minute. “I think I’ll call her Otter. Because she ought-ter have drowned.”

  Otter liked the baby bottle. She sucked and swallowed, sucked and swallowed. She drank all the milk. Then she yawned and went to sleep.

  That night Otter curled up on my bed. She slept under my blanket. Warm and safe.

  Chapter Eight

  For two days Otter slept most of the time. On the third day she woke up bursting with energy. She wrestled with my hand. She chewed on my fingers with her little puppy teeth. She ran around in circles. Round and round and round.

  The next day I took her to the beach.

  Otter ran straight for the water. She splashed into the cold sea. She started to swim away. “Otter!” I called. “Come back here!”

  Otter turned around. She swam and ducked underwater. At last she swam back to shore. I scooped her up. “Otter is a good name for you,” I said. “You swim like an otter.”

  Otter grew. She drank milk and grew plump.

  She ate puppy food and grew bigger. Every time I took her to the beach she went swimming.

  One day we went to a pet store. I bought a bright orange life jacket. Then I bought a cardboard sign and a black felt pen.

  I carried Otter along the dock. Lady Tia bobbed gently at her mooring. I stepped aboard. I tied one end of a rope to Otter’s life jacket. I tied the other end to a cleat on Lady Tia’s deck. “That will keep you safe,” I said. I sat the chubby puppy on a seat.

  I picked up the sign. I wrote my phone number on it. I taped the sign to Lady Tia’s window. The sign said: For Sale.

  A sea wind ruffled my hair. The smell of salt water tickled my nostrils. My heart felt heavy. I would miss Lady Tia. I looked at the seat where Otter ought-ter be. My heart did a flip-flop. She was gone!

  “Otter!” I cried. Then I remembered the rope. It snaked along the seat. It climbed up to the deck above the cabin. It trailed across the deck to the mast.

  A tiny black tail, no bigger than my finger, poked out behind the mast. It wagged as fast as a hummingbird’s wing.

  I climbed up to the mast. I looked down at the pup. Her little black nose pointed toward the sea. Salty wind blew her ears back. Her mouth opened in a puppy-smile. Her little body shook with excitement.

  “So you want to go sailing, do you, Otter?” I asked. “Well, I guess it won’t hurt. We’ll take Lady Tia on one last sail. But mind you don’t fall overboard. If you do, you’ll never get near a boat again.”

  Otter sat on the seat. She watched me untie the boat. She watched Lady Tia slide through the gap. Her little pink tongue hung out. She watched the sails go up. Her head twisted to one side.

  Wind filled the sails. Lady Tia heeled to one side. Water gurgled behind her stern. Lady Tia pranced into the waves.

  A warm little body snuggled up beside me. Otter sat up straight, her nose pointed into the wind. I patted the top of her head. Her tail wagged.

  “You’re a real little sea dog,” I said.

  Soft sea spray touched my cheeks. Green and white waves tumbled ove
r one another. I smiled as we headed out to sea.

  That evening the wind dropped to a gentle breeze. The waves smoothed into a rippled sea. I steered Lady Tia toward the harbor.

  Otter watched me light my pipe. Her head turned to one side. She watched me clutch it between my teeth. Her little pink tongue hung out.

  She jumped to the floor. She sniffed at a stick of driftwood. It had been there since I pulled Otter from the sea. She picked up the stick. She climbed back up to the seat. She sat close beside me.

  Otter chewed on her stick. I puffed on my pipe. Lady Tia sailed gently with the wind.

  When we got back to the marina I took the For Sale sign down.

  Chapter Nine

  All summer long Otter grew. All summer long we sailed together.

  In fall the days grew shorter. The winds blew stronger. Still we sailed together. Still Otter grew.

  Winter came, and it was too cold to sail. I had Lady Tia hauled from the water. I covered her with tarps. They would protect her from winter storms.

  I stood in my yard and looked at Lady Tia. “We will sail you again in spring,” I said.

  I walked to my back door. Otter walked beside me. I puffed on my pipe. Otter carried her stick.

  I put down my pipe on the porch. Otter put down her stick. We went inside the warm house.

  “Next spring I will be Cap’n Bill again,” I said. “But now I am just plain Bill.”

  Every day Otter and I went for a walk. Sometimes we walked along a beach. Sometimes we walked through the woods. Wherever we went, I took my pipe. Otter always carried a stick. The bigger she grew, the bigger the stick.

  Even when rain pounded down from thick dark clouds... Even when strong cold winds stormed across the sea... Even when waves crashed against the shore... Even on those days, Otter wanted to swim. She always dropped her stick at my feet.

  “It’s too cold to swim today,” I always said. I walked past the stick. Otter picked it up. She ran ahead of me. She dropped it at my feet again. She looked up and barked.

  I laughed and tossed the stick into the water. Otter bounded after it. Her black head bobbed on the waves. Sometimes she disappeared. Then I saw her again. She rolled to the top of a wave.

  One day a big black seal heard Otter bark. It swam up close. It lifted high in the water. Its big round eyes stared at this strange animal. This animal chased a stick instead of a fish.

  The seal followed Otter toward shore. It blinked and watched this strange animal. This animal ran from the water. It had long thin legs instead of flippers.

  Otter ran to drop the stick at my feet. She shook her thick black coat. Cold water sprayed all over me.

  “Go away!” I shouted. “That’s freezing!”

  Otter picked up her stick and ran along the beach.

  Spring came again. The days grew longer. The wind that stirred the sea grew warmer.

  Otter sat in the yard. She watched me scrape and paint and polish. She chewed on her stick and wagged her tail. Soon we would be sailing again.

  At last Lady Tia was sparkly clean and ready to sail. I had her hauled back to the harbor.

  I stepped onto Lady Tia’s deck. Otter jumped aboard. “It feels good to be Cap’n Bill again,” I said. Otter wagged her tail.

  I picked up Otter’s life jacket. I tried to put it on her, but it was too small. “Maybe you don’t need a life jacket anymore,” I said. “You swim like an otter, and you never fall overboard.”

  Otter wagged her tail.

  We sailed on brisk spring winds. Lady Tia heeled over and danced across the waves. Her rigging creaked and groaned. Otter sat on the seat beside me. Cool sea spray washed over our faces.

  The summer winds were light and warm. On hot days I anchored Lady Tia in a bay. I climbed into my dinghy and rowed to shore.

  Otter jumped from Lady Tia’s deck. She landed with a splash in the water. She swam to shore with strong sure strokes. “You’re a real sea dog,” I said. “You love to swim so much.”

  Sometimes we slept all night on the boat. I lay on the forward berth. Otter curled up beside me. I left my pipe in an ashtray outside. Otter left her stick on the seat beside it.

  Chapter Ten

  That long summer came to an end. The days grew shorter. It was almost time to have Lady Tia hauled from the water.

  One morning I woke up and looked out the window. Sun shone from a bright blue sky. Cedar trees swayed on a gentle breeze. “Let’s go for one last sail before winter,” I said.

  Otter barked and wagged her tail.

  I packed sandwiches and coffee for myself. I packed dog biscuits for Otter. And off we went.

  The west wind blew steadily. Lady Tia pranced into the wind. At noon I ate my sandwiches and drank my coffee. Otter gobbled her dog biscuits. She drank water from her dish.

  By late afternoon the wind blew stronger. It switched to the southeast. Dark clouds rose over the islands. “It’s time to head home,” I said.

  I turned Lady Tia around. A strong wind billowed her sails. Lady Tia heeled over. She picked up speed. Water gurgled around her hull. Wind snapped at her sails.

  “I don’t like the look of this,” I said. I reefed in the mainsail to make it smaller. “That’s better,” I told Otter. “We need less sail in this strong wind.”

  Soon the wind blew even stronger. Lady Tia heeled farther over. Her bow dipped into the waves. Seawater poured onto her deck.

  I fixed the tiller in place.

  Otter sat on the seat. She clutched her special stick. I patted her head. “You sit tight,” I told her. “I need to change the jib.”

  I made my way along the deck. Lady Tia bucked and rolled beneath my feet. Water sloshed around my sea boots. If I didn’t hang on tight I would fall overboard. I lowered the jib sail. I put up a small storm jib. “That’s better,” I said.

  I made my way back to the seat. Lady Tia bucked and rolled. Crash! The boom swung over my head.

  When I got back the seat was empty.

  “Otter!” I called. There was no answer.

  I looked inside the cabin. Otter wasn’t there.

  “Oh, no!” I cried. I looked across the sea. Green and white waves tumbled and rolled. Clumps of seaweed rose and fell. Chunks of driftwood bobbed on rolling waves. Then I spotted a dark head. My heart lightened. “Otter!” I called.

  The head turned. Two round eyes blinked at me. The head was round and smooth. It had no ears. “Where’s Otter?” I yelled. The seal sank beneath the waves.

  I turned Lady Tia around. I searched until the sun sank behind the islands. I searched until the sea turned black as ink. Tears stung my eyes. “I should have bought her a new life jacket.”

  At last I turned Lady Tia’s bow toward home.

  My heart ached.

  Chapter Eleven

  “So, that’s my story,” Bill sighed “That’s how I lost Otter. I thought she had drowned.”

  He sipped his coffee and stared at his hands.

  Kyle got up from the kitchen floor. He sat on a chair beside his mom. There was something wet on Bill’s cheek.

  Bill wiped it away. “I put a For Sale sign on Lady Tia,” he said. “It’s time I sold her. First I sailed with Tia, but she moved away. Then I sailed with Otter, but she fell overboard. I don’t feel like sailing any more.”

  Bill smiled, but his smile went all wobbly. “I am very happy you found her, Kyle. You saved Otter’s life. And now I see that you love her too. I will not take her away. That would be wrong.”

  Kyle tried to feel happy. He tried to smile, but his smile went wobbly too. He felt so sad he wanted to cry. But the sadness was not for himself. It was for Bill.

  Bill lived all alone. Kyle lived with his mom.

  Bill’s daughter moved far away. Kyle’s dad lived close by.

  Bill didn’t see Tia very often. Kyle saw his dad every week.

  Kyle looked at his mom. She smiled at him. She didn’t say a word.

  Kyle looked at Treasure. The dog put her nose
on his knee. He patted her head.

  Bill stood up. “Thank you for the coffee,” he said. He bent to pat the dog. “Good-bye, Treasure,” he said. He walked slowly to the door.

  “You take her!” Kyle called. “You take Otter. You need her more than me!”

  Bill turned around. “Oh!” he said.

  He smiled a real smile this time. The dog ran to him. He bent to scratch behind her ear. “Thank you, Kyle.”

  Kyle tried to feel happy. But his eyes stung. His heart ached.

  Bill looked at Kyle. “I have a better idea,” he said. “You love this dog as much as I do. Why don’t we share her? I’ll take her sailing when you’re at school. You can pick her up on your way home.”

  Kyle ran over. He scratched behind the dog’s other ear. “Okay.” He smiled at Bill, a huge happy smile.

  “Well,” Bill said. “I must go now. I want to take the For Sale sign down.” He walked to the door again. “I feel like sailing after all.”

  Kyle grinned. “I’m seven, but I’ve never ever been sailing!”

  Bill turned around. He looked at Mom. She smiled and nodded.

  “Then some days the three of us will sail together. You, me and Treasure.”

  “But, you said her name is Otter!”

  “On the boat I am no longer Bill. I am Cap’n Bill. When we are sailing the dog will be Otter. The rest of the time we’ll call her Treasure. That’s a better name anyway, don’t you think?”

  Kyle looked at Bill. He nodded. “She’s the best treasure anyone ever found!”

  Dayle Campbell Gaetz is the author of several books for children and teens. She lives in Campbell River, British Columbia.