We were walking the dogs on the beach, where walking equals screaming after them hoping they’ll at least listen enough to occasionally saunter back and get a biscuit from Miss Carol.
It was a nice morning for Cutter and Tug to be running away, sunny, warm, the ocean an emerald green with just a little swell running. Maybe I wouldn’t even miss them.
So I started watching the fishing boats while thinking about a life with cats. Or maybe hamsters.
There’s a longing, a pull, a yankin’ that makes ya wanna head out to sea and work on a fishing boat. It looks idyllic, free of encumbrances and runaway dogs, lofty even, especially when the weather’s nice like it was.
But I know the reality.
I helped pull a gill net once and I have friends who’ve worked the boats. It’s brutally hard, usually cold, always wet labor that mostly seems to happen late at night or the early morning when the tides change.
It’s a tough way to make a livin’.
But it’s sure pretty to look at and yearn over while wonderin’ if Miss Carol will chase the fool dogs this time or if she’ll wait for me to do it again.
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