You're BAD DOGS!

We've had rain in biblical proportions here in the northeast, the likes of which hasn't been seen since Noah.  Dispite that, the dogs still have to go out to go potty.    So it was when it was raining particularly heavy.   Ruby was standing by the door and Chevy, the appointed spokesperson of the doggy crew, came to me and barked in no uncertain terms that they needed to go out NOW.    So I donned my old yellow slicker and out we went into the deluge.   They galloped up the dock and waited for me to get there to open the gate (I don't gallop anymore).   When I opened it, they ran to the parking garage where they immediately began chasing each other and playing.  A parking garage is a totally inappropriate place for doggy play, so I chased them outside and to the marina's small fenced in grassy area.  

They seemed to be fine with the downpouring rain.   I was not.   I could feel the rainwater creeping in through the seams of my yellow slicker.   After about ten minutes, they were still running and playing and I was starting to shiver.   OK kids, time to go back to the boat.    They ignored me and kept playing.   OK, time to go back to the boat NOW!  More ignoring.  I yelled at them and told them they're BAD DOGS and need to get back on the boat RIGHT NOW. I think I actually heard them giggle as they ran away, scooting under the pine trees to roll in mud.   I decided to divide and conquer.   It took some doing, angry words and such, but I finally got Chevy to go back onto the boardwalk where I herded him to our dock.   Ruby, not having a playmate, followed.   Back on the boat, Pam could tell that I was soaking wet and in a foul mood.   She asked what was wrong and I told her how misbehaved her dogs had been.   Pam is always a cheerful person, and she cheerfully locked Chevy (who was covered in mud from head to tail) in the helm station and whisked mud-caked Ruby off to the shower.   After a few minutes, a much chagrinned Ruby appeared and Chevy went to the showers next.  For my part, I decided it was scotch-thirty.

The next morning it was still raining hard.    Ruby was at the door and Chevy was standing in front of me, woofing to go out.  Pam knew that I was still angry at her dogs and it was much to early for me to declare scotch-thirty again and so she took them out.  

Pam has much more fashion sense than I do.

In other developments, yesterday Drift Away left the dock for only the second time.   We moved from Stamford to Norwalk to have the  generators looked at.  We should be here for a week, I'd guess.  

This was also only the third time I've docked this boat.   The other two times were easy, once to a big gas dock for fuel and the second to our winter home, also a big gas dock.   This docking was much more difficult.   I had to get this 46' boat past a 70' shiny yacht, make a 90 degree left turn without hitting it, and then a 90 degree right hand turn into a very narrow slip.   I took my time and used the engines to turn the boat, putting one in forward and the other in reverse to slowly turn into the slip.   I'm very proud to say that the docking went perfectly and I didn't hit the shiny yacht nor the dock.   Not bad for a sailor.