Today dawned with a downpour. By noon the wet stuff was still falling. In consequential to me because I had already dismissed my mid-week crew for the balance of the year. And I welcomed not having to make the decision to persevere into racing in afternoon rains. But then the clouds blew off and the sun brought unseasonably warm, topless, air into the waterfront. The wind was blowing off shore, gusting at 20+ knots: perfect, slam-dunk, winning conditions for The Good Guys.
I was surprised at my nonchalance at not sailing. I was content to check on Das Boot: adding a dock line and subtracting the water in the dehumidifier. I also noted the storm had brought significant kelp into the harbor and tied it around the slips. I congratulated myself in not having to risk my diesel's intake and drive shaft. Das Boot surrendered into my hands a reasonably chilled beer and on the walk back up the docks there was some chatting to do.
Just as I was finishing my beer, Doberwoman must have mistaken the kelp dockside as a lawn and stepped off into the deep. The dock's surface is 15 to 18 inches above the water surface. A horrible scenario flashed through my head. I did not have nearly enough strength to lift 70 pounds of dead weight canine to safety and I would probably tumble in after her! Ballou did not panic but merely treaded water. Instantly I was on my knees, instinctively grabbing the back of her collar, easily lifting her enough for her sinewy and athletic body to clamber back up on the dock. There is nothing dead about Doberwoman's weight! Although she was strangely eager to return to the car, I forced her to run on the beach to dry off and forget her trauma.
Even if only a trio of 105's showed up to race, it was a memorable day of man and canine bonding.