Marlon Meets the Whales

Position: 42°05’33″N 70°18’60″W

Marlon has adjusted to life afloat much better and faster than we anticipated. In spite of his confined (and often rocking and rolling) quarters, the lack of terra firma and inconsistent bouts of exercise, in so many ways he’s happier than ever. Being with your people 24/7 is doggie heaven. You’re almost guaranteed to have your choice of lap anytime, at minimum your second pick if you have to settle.

I think all this has made Marlon extra eager to please us, especially with the boat potty-training. He determined from day one he was not going to have an accident and so far he hasn’t. To prove this he resolved not to go on the boat at all if humanly, um…caninely, possible.

Marlon starts to self-regulate his food and water intake after about 12 hours at sea. Even 36 hours in he continues to snub our animated encouragement to pee on his small green piece of plastic grass that we tied to the toerail on deck. Expending minimal energy, the little guy eyes us with dogged displeasure until he eventually reaches his capacity for holding ‘it’ with a loud whimper as he waits at the bottom of the companionway.

We were about 15 hours into our crossing from Maine to Provincetown, Cape Cod. Fog delays had required anchoring at Wood Island Harbor the previous night and now it was going on a record 48 hours since Marlon had been ashore and/or relieved himself. He was doing his best doggie Zen – nominal movements and mind over matter – but he was almost fully full.

Hours earlier the wind had completely died. The night was peaceful, the seas settled, and we were motoring under the soft light of the waxing quarter moon. The quiet was broken by Marlon’s proclamation that he’d reached his limit and wanted to get on the deck. Grateful for the benign conditions I attached a leash to his lifejacket and followed him forward. Mike joined Tai in the cockpit to see why we’d slowed down. Before Marlon had time to even sniff the bow, the sudden and unmistakable sounds of a whale surfacing and spouting confirmed what my peripheral vision saw just off Aleta’s starboard side.

“Whales!!”, we shouted gleefully, as two more appeared, their huge bodies rising gracefully out of the black while spraying columns of shimmering water into the still night air.

It was truly magical. Not so much for Marlon. He immediately froze, spreading all four legs, eyes wide open, scared for his life. He stayed fixed like that until the last whale swam under our bow and off into the darkness a few minutes later. At that he dashed for the safety of the cockpit forgetting his task at hand.

For the next couple of hours, no amount of reassurance could get him to try again. We dropped anchor at 1am and an undeterred Marlon bounded for the deck to relieve himself at last. It may be my imagination, but now he seems to scan the water much more carefully before visiting his little patch of grass.