Showing posts with label living aboard with dogs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label living aboard with dogs. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

We Surrender to our Spider Overlords

Boats and spiders just seem to go together. The first few nights I lived aboard, I was covered in spider bites. I could actually see the fang marks on my forearm with one particularly nasty bite. I started my campaign against the spiders. I spider bombed the boat when we were gone overnight. I sprayed the dock lines every couple days. I sprayed a lot of places. And it seemed to be working, for awhile. But then I'd step out into the cockpit in the morning only to walk through an enormous web. I started seeing spiders on the outside of the boat, webs were popping up overnight like Starbucks in gentrifying neighbourhoods. I was losing the battle. Just the other days, I was sitting in the cabin with my laptop open when a little spider dropped down from his long single thread right between me and the screen. I heard him ask, "What are you doing, updating your status on Facebook?". In May, I couldn't bear the thought of a spider in the same room with me. Now, I grabbed that nosy little spider in my fist and squeezed tight, merely wiping the carnage on my jeans. As the season wears on, you become a lot less squirmish about all kinds of things.

Friday, June 5, 2009

Ira's Porthole

Ira likes to set up a window-based 'control tower' wherever he lives in order to keep an eye on the outside world. He has claimed a small porthole on the side of the boat from where he can see the main dock and every person or dog or bird who happens to pass by. This morning, my neighbours were launching a little dinghy from the main dock into our basin. I ran over to see if they needed a hand. Their big old happy-go-lucky dog 'Buddy' was running around too, clearly excited that his dog-sized boat was launching. I'm over on the main dock, about 100 feet away from Ira, but I'm right in his line of vision through the porthole... And ringing throughout the marina is the shrill bark of the Yorkie, unimpressed with proceedings. But Ira doesn't bother to come out on deck or try to follow me and bark in person at the goings-on. He just remains onboard, barking away madly from the convenience of his porthole, aka, the control tower. Why venture out when you have your own porthole?