Great Dane on Board Episode 2
Odin Playing in the Surf
In Seattle, Odin got his first taste of the boating life.
Dawn was coming down the dock to the boat with Odin and Sizzle. Odin is a fawn colored Dane, classic by any standards. I’m six feet tall and his head is just about belly level with me. His father was a national champion. Odin looks every bit as regal as his name.
Sizzle was a brindle Dane. Slightly smaller than Odin at about one hundred and sixty pounds, she was black with gold tiger stripes. A retired champion show dog, she was a little smarter and more nimble than her brother and had a mind of her own.
Sizzle easily hopped aboard the Victory. Odin put his front feet on the gunnel and pulled himself up. Usually, he put his hind feet on the boarding ladder and boosted himself aboard. This time he missed. His feet didn’t find the ladder and he went tumbling into the water.
This was still March in Seattle. The water was cold, but Dawn dropped her purse and dove in.
Is she crazy? I thought. Jumping in that cold water for a dog?
“Bring him around to the next dock,” I shouted. “We can lift him out of the water there.”
“Don’t worry,” Dawn yelled, “Danes are good swimmers.” I was more worried about Dawn coming down with hypothermia than I was with dogs' swimming abilities.
While I found a couple of half inch lines to pull him out with, Dawn and Odin swam over to the next dock.
Odin was not happy about this turn of events. He faithfully followed Dawn and when she got him up to the dock, I passed the lines under him, one at his hind legs, one at his shoulder.
Now, I consider myself a strong man. When I was playing football, it often took five or six of the opposing players to bring me down. But I couldn’t lift Odin up to the dock.
Dawn swam back to the boarding ladder and climbed up on the dock, then ran to help me.
“You take his hind end and I’ll get his front.” I reasoned that his head and chest weighed more than his tiny fanny. We finally managed to lift him out of the water. He was not happy.
Then Dawn announced that she was taking her dogs with her to Mexico. I was shocked. It was the stupidest idea I’d ever heard. I was stunned. It took me moments to even achieve coherent thought, then I could think of nothing redeeming about the idea.
Was I going to have to sail without Dawn? But we had so much invested in the relationship. She was the perfect first mate. She grew up in a sailing family. She had no kids and no ties to Seattle (I thought, before the whole dog thing blew up in my face). She had oodles of sailing and hospitality experience. She was a gourmet chef and an experienced snorkeling instructor and tour guide.
There was also one other little bitty thing. After my wife died, I promised myself that I would never get that involved with a woman again. But Dawn made me break that promise. I didn’t mean to, really I didn’t, but one day I looked up and she owned my heart.
On the other hand, she had these two giant animals . . .
Dawn was coming down the dock to the boat with Odin and Sizzle. Odin is a fawn colored Dane, classic by any standards. I’m six feet tall and his head is just about belly level with me. His father was a national champion. Odin looks every bit as regal as his name.
Sizzle was a brindle Dane. Slightly smaller than Odin at about one hundred and sixty pounds, she was black with gold tiger stripes. A retired champion show dog, she was a little smarter and more nimble than her brother and had a mind of her own.
Sizzle easily hopped aboard the Victory. Odin put his front feet on the gunnel and pulled himself up. Usually, he put his hind feet on the boarding ladder and boosted himself aboard. This time he missed. His feet didn’t find the ladder and he went tumbling into the water.
This was still March in Seattle. The water was cold, but Dawn dropped her purse and dove in.
Is she crazy? I thought. Jumping in that cold water for a dog?
“Bring him around to the next dock,” I shouted. “We can lift him out of the water there.”
“Don’t worry,” Dawn yelled, “Danes are good swimmers.” I was more worried about Dawn coming down with hypothermia than I was with dogs' swimming abilities.
While I found a couple of half inch lines to pull him out with, Dawn and Odin swam over to the next dock.
Odin was not happy about this turn of events. He faithfully followed Dawn and when she got him up to the dock, I passed the lines under him, one at his hind legs, one at his shoulder.
Now, I consider myself a strong man. When I was playing football, it often took five or six of the opposing players to bring me down. But I couldn’t lift Odin up to the dock.
Dawn swam back to the boarding ladder and climbed up on the dock, then ran to help me.
“You take his hind end and I’ll get his front.” I reasoned that his head and chest weighed more than his tiny fanny. We finally managed to lift him out of the water. He was not happy.
Then Dawn announced that she was taking her dogs with her to Mexico. I was shocked. It was the stupidest idea I’d ever heard. I was stunned. It took me moments to even achieve coherent thought, then I could think of nothing redeeming about the idea.
Was I going to have to sail without Dawn? But we had so much invested in the relationship. She was the perfect first mate. She grew up in a sailing family. She had no kids and no ties to Seattle (I thought, before the whole dog thing blew up in my face). She had oodles of sailing and hospitality experience. She was a gourmet chef and an experienced snorkeling instructor and tour guide.
There was also one other little bitty thing. After my wife died, I promised myself that I would never get that involved with a woman again. But Dawn made me break that promise. I didn’t mean to, really I didn’t, but one day I looked up and she owned my heart.
On the other hand, she had these two giant animals . . .
Odin at Chula Vista Marina with the Victory in the background
I guess I was in shock, I still don’t know
how or when I caved, but we set sail for Mexico on September 5th 2012.
Even I, who knew next to nothing about dogs, knew that it would be
hazardous to take the Danes with us on the open ocean. There are many
people who take their dogs cruising with great success, but Dawn’s Danes
were both old and not ready to learn new tricks. Besides, they took up
half the boat and couldn’t even haul in a halyard.
Dawn found a young couple to live in her apartment and take care of the dogs while she sailed down the coast to San Francisco. A reasonable compromise, she could go and the dogs would be OK until she returned for them.
It turned out to be a good decision. Dawn saved the boat and our lives at least two times on the perilous journey with her clear thinking.
Once we arrived in San Francisco, Dawn flew back to get her dogs. I had to question her sanity. She flew from San Francisco to Seattle, stuffed the Queen Mary (Dawn’s 1998 GMC Yukon) with stacks of boat parts, my books, food and two Great Danes. Then she headed south without stopping to rest, driving straight through to Redding, California where she grabbed a few hours sleep before arriving in San Francisco the next day. The woman is crazy.
Unfortunately, Sizzle, the female, had cancer in her nose and throat. We lost her in San Francisco. But Odin continued the trip with us.
When we sailed from San Francisco, Odin stayed in Oakland while we took the boat south to San Diego, then Dawn flew up and got him and the car. Dawn had left him with a nice lady in a house that boarded dogs. Dawn had to pawn a diamond ring to pay for the care. There’s no length she won’t go to for her boy.
In San Diego, Odin moved aboard the Victory with us.
"What are you going to do with your dog? I asked.
"I'm going to let him sleep on deck," Dawn responded.
Are you nuts? I thought. "I don't want dog hair all over my boat."
"That won't be a problem. He won't go downstairs and I'll rinse the deck every day," she said.
Yeah sure. "Look what followed me home, Dad. Can I keep him? I'll feed him and take him for walks."
It was always Dawn's intention to get a place where Odin had room to roam when we got to Mexico, but we only planned a short stay in San Diego.
In a manner of days, we had people showing up at the boat every morning, wanting to take Odin on walks with them or inviting Dawn to join them. It seems like every dog lover in San Diego County heard that there was a Great Dane in town.
Dawn was good to her word. We have a steep companion way ladder, about six feet long. Odin couldn’t climb down the ladder, thank God. At least I had some refuge from the beast below decks.
But the deck was his. Unlike modern boats, the Victory has lots of flat deck space for Odin.
The Victory is a 56-foot ferro-cement boat. One time when we were going through the locks in Seattle, the skipper of the 41-foot ketch rafted up to us said, “You have more deck space than an aircraft carrier.” Well, maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but just barely. Odin had plenty of room to roam.
Being an old dog, he spent most of his time napping or just laying in the shade. People walked up and down the docks and stopped to visit with him. Odin is a very social animal and loved all the attention. Whenever another boater took their little dog for a walk, they had to stop and see Odin on the way.
Dawn found a young couple to live in her apartment and take care of the dogs while she sailed down the coast to San Francisco. A reasonable compromise, she could go and the dogs would be OK until she returned for them.
It turned out to be a good decision. Dawn saved the boat and our lives at least two times on the perilous journey with her clear thinking.
Once we arrived in San Francisco, Dawn flew back to get her dogs. I had to question her sanity. She flew from San Francisco to Seattle, stuffed the Queen Mary (Dawn’s 1998 GMC Yukon) with stacks of boat parts, my books, food and two Great Danes. Then she headed south without stopping to rest, driving straight through to Redding, California where she grabbed a few hours sleep before arriving in San Francisco the next day. The woman is crazy.
Unfortunately, Sizzle, the female, had cancer in her nose and throat. We lost her in San Francisco. But Odin continued the trip with us.
When we sailed from San Francisco, Odin stayed in Oakland while we took the boat south to San Diego, then Dawn flew up and got him and the car. Dawn had left him with a nice lady in a house that boarded dogs. Dawn had to pawn a diamond ring to pay for the care. There’s no length she won’t go to for her boy.
In San Diego, Odin moved aboard the Victory with us.
"What are you going to do with your dog? I asked.
"I'm going to let him sleep on deck," Dawn responded.
Are you nuts? I thought. "I don't want dog hair all over my boat."
"That won't be a problem. He won't go downstairs and I'll rinse the deck every day," she said.
Yeah sure. "Look what followed me home, Dad. Can I keep him? I'll feed him and take him for walks."
It was always Dawn's intention to get a place where Odin had room to roam when we got to Mexico, but we only planned a short stay in San Diego.
In a manner of days, we had people showing up at the boat every morning, wanting to take Odin on walks with them or inviting Dawn to join them. It seems like every dog lover in San Diego County heard that there was a Great Dane in town.
Dawn was good to her word. We have a steep companion way ladder, about six feet long. Odin couldn’t climb down the ladder, thank God. At least I had some refuge from the beast below decks.
But the deck was his. Unlike modern boats, the Victory has lots of flat deck space for Odin.
The Victory is a 56-foot ferro-cement boat. One time when we were going through the locks in Seattle, the skipper of the 41-foot ketch rafted up to us said, “You have more deck space than an aircraft carrier.” Well, maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but just barely. Odin had plenty of room to roam.
Being an old dog, he spent most of his time napping or just laying in the shade. People walked up and down the docks and stopped to visit with him. Odin is a very social animal and loved all the attention. Whenever another boater took their little dog for a walk, they had to stop and see Odin on the way.
People lined up to visit with Odin on the Victory.
We stayed in San Diego for two months. In
that time, Odin became quite comfortable in his new environment. We
became known as “the boat with the Great Dane on it.”
Then came time to take our leave. As before, Dawn made arrangements for Odin stay in San Diego with our friends, Ron and Tina. Their dog, Thai, adored him and the little pug, Grady, from next door came over to play every day. Still, Odin was sad at losing his family. He moped around the house and spent hours looking out the window, pouting, waiting for his mom to return.
Off the coast of Baja we hit a rock. The shipwreck nearly cost us our lives. The collision put a hole in the boat and we almost lost her. Only Dawn’s quick thinking and the kindness of the pangueros (fishermen) of Abreojos saved our lives.
We spent the longest week of my life trying to save the boat and get her towed back to Ensenada for repairs.
(I’m not going to go into all the details of the wreck. If you want to read the full story of our sailing trip to Mexico, go to my blog at www.pennwallace.com and click on the “Penn’s Blog” tab. Go back to the September archive to get started. The shipwreck was on December 13th, 2012 if you want to skip to the good part.)
We both fought hard to save the boat. While the pangueros and I fought to keep the Victory afloat, Dawn worked tirelessly day after day trying to save as much of our personal belongings as possible. Finally a tow boat came down from Ensenada to take the Victory home.
As the tow boat pulled out of the bay with the Victory in tow, all I could feel was an overwhelming sense of relief. Somehow we had survived the trial by fire. We were alive, the boat was still floating and was heading north to safety.
Dawn finally had time to think about Odin. Her main concern was how fast she could get to San Diego and get the family back together.
Our trip from Abreojos to Ensenada was like something out of the movie “Planes, Trains and Automobiles” (minus sticking my hands between John Candy’s thighs).
Then came time to take our leave. As before, Dawn made arrangements for Odin stay in San Diego with our friends, Ron and Tina. Their dog, Thai, adored him and the little pug, Grady, from next door came over to play every day. Still, Odin was sad at losing his family. He moped around the house and spent hours looking out the window, pouting, waiting for his mom to return.
Off the coast of Baja we hit a rock. The shipwreck nearly cost us our lives. The collision put a hole in the boat and we almost lost her. Only Dawn’s quick thinking and the kindness of the pangueros (fishermen) of Abreojos saved our lives.
We spent the longest week of my life trying to save the boat and get her towed back to Ensenada for repairs.
(I’m not going to go into all the details of the wreck. If you want to read the full story of our sailing trip to Mexico, go to my blog at www.pennwallace.com and click on the “Penn’s Blog” tab. Go back to the September archive to get started. The shipwreck was on December 13th, 2012 if you want to skip to the good part.)
We both fought hard to save the boat. While the pangueros and I fought to keep the Victory afloat, Dawn worked tirelessly day after day trying to save as much of our personal belongings as possible. Finally a tow boat came down from Ensenada to take the Victory home.
As the tow boat pulled out of the bay with the Victory in tow, all I could feel was an overwhelming sense of relief. Somehow we had survived the trial by fire. We were alive, the boat was still floating and was heading north to safety.
Dawn finally had time to think about Odin. Her main concern was how fast she could get to San Diego and get the family back together.
Our trip from Abreojos to Ensenada was like something out of the movie “Planes, Trains and Automobiles” (minus sticking my hands between John Candy’s thighs).
Odin Plays with Friends in Ocean Beach
Abreojos is half-way down the coast of Baja. We were six hundred miles from Cabo and six hundred miles from Ensenada.
Rustic concrete houses line the dirt streets. There is no bank, no post
office, no super markets, no Internet (most of the time) and cell
phones only work intermittently. The closest bus stop is one hundred and
forty miles away, much of it over dirt roads.
Don’t get the impression I’m looking down on Abreojos. These people are our friends. They literally saved our lives. When we left, I tried to pay Raul for all of his help. He refused the money.
“At sea,” he said in Spanish, “we are all brothers. Someday, I will be in trouble and you will be there to save me.”
I will never forget all of the kindness they showed to a couple of shipwrecked gringo sailors.
Moreno, one of our new friends, drove us the one hundred and forty miles to Vizcaiano, the nearest town with a bus stop. We caught a late night bus to Tijuana. We arrived in Tijuana around eight in the morning.
From the bus stop we caught a cab to the border, where we discovered around two hundred people in line ahead of us.
Our taxi driver suggested that we catch a shuttle bus to the border crossing, for only ten dollars each. It was better than waiting in line for hours so we jumped on the bus and they took us about a quarter mile to the frontier where we got in a special line for buses and were in the USA in no time.
In Santa Ynez on the American side we caught the trolley to San Diego. There Ron and Tina waited for us with Odin and the Queen Mary. We went looking for a place to stay. . . that would take Great Danes.
We spent Christmas in a hotel in San Diego. This was not the Christmas that I had expected, but we were alive.
We arrived in the US on December 23d, my mother’s birthday. I called her in Portland to let her know we survived.
“What a great present,” she said. “To have you back in the States, alive and well.”
We were kind of well. We were both covered from head to foot with cuts, scratches and bruises from the accident. We had worked around the clock for ten days saving the Victory. We were both exhausted.
I looked like I had gone ten rounds with Mohammed Ali. I hurt so badly all over that I couldn’t identify one singe hurt over another. Dawn said that even her ear lobes were sore.
The day after Christmas we got the call. The Victory made it. She was in Ensenda ready to be hauled out.
We threw all of our belongings and the huge beast into the Queen Mary and headed for the border. Entering a foreign country with no papers for Odin and no plan for the future we just hopped in the car and went. So began our lives in Mexico.
What would we do when we got there? We’d figure it out along the way.
Episode 3
Don’t get the impression I’m looking down on Abreojos. These people are our friends. They literally saved our lives. When we left, I tried to pay Raul for all of his help. He refused the money.
“At sea,” he said in Spanish, “we are all brothers. Someday, I will be in trouble and you will be there to save me.”
I will never forget all of the kindness they showed to a couple of shipwrecked gringo sailors.
Moreno, one of our new friends, drove us the one hundred and forty miles to Vizcaiano, the nearest town with a bus stop. We caught a late night bus to Tijuana. We arrived in Tijuana around eight in the morning.
From the bus stop we caught a cab to the border, where we discovered around two hundred people in line ahead of us.
Our taxi driver suggested that we catch a shuttle bus to the border crossing, for only ten dollars each. It was better than waiting in line for hours so we jumped on the bus and they took us about a quarter mile to the frontier where we got in a special line for buses and were in the USA in no time.
In Santa Ynez on the American side we caught the trolley to San Diego. There Ron and Tina waited for us with Odin and the Queen Mary. We went looking for a place to stay. . . that would take Great Danes.
We spent Christmas in a hotel in San Diego. This was not the Christmas that I had expected, but we were alive.
We arrived in the US on December 23d, my mother’s birthday. I called her in Portland to let her know we survived.
“What a great present,” she said. “To have you back in the States, alive and well.”
We were kind of well. We were both covered from head to foot with cuts, scratches and bruises from the accident. We had worked around the clock for ten days saving the Victory. We were both exhausted.
I looked like I had gone ten rounds with Mohammed Ali. I hurt so badly all over that I couldn’t identify one singe hurt over another. Dawn said that even her ear lobes were sore.
The day after Christmas we got the call. The Victory made it. She was in Ensenda ready to be hauled out.
We threw all of our belongings and the huge beast into the Queen Mary and headed for the border. Entering a foreign country with no papers for Odin and no plan for the future we just hopped in the car and went. So began our lives in Mexico.
What would we do when we got there? We’d figure it out along the way.
Episode 3