This is Wilbur (at 11 weeks of age) after being mauled by another dog.
My daughter emailed this to me directly from the hospital where she is a vet tech, and then begged me to adopt him.
Of course I refused.
He's now been with us for over two months.
Wilbur started out on a raw diet which consisted of chicken thighs (bones and all) that I spent hours pulverizing so that he could digest them. But we'd only been on the boat a week when I realized this raw diet thing was going to go right out the window. There was no way I could keep meat fresh for very long and not every market carries chicken.
Back when we were docked in Annapolis I was told I could catch a bus that would take me to a grocery store where I could hopefully find dog food.
After asking a city bus driver how I could catch the blue bus I needed, he yelled, "Jump on! I see one up ahead and I bet we can catch it."
We did, but that driver made me transfer to yet another one. The third driver was pissed at the second driver because apparently they were heading in the same direction and she saw no reason why she should have to haul my butt around! But she was very nice and even dropped me closer to the grocery store than she was actually required to do.
I was beyond thrilled to buy a twenty pound bag of Iams puppy food, and the very sweet, fish counter girl (who had a huge sucker bite on her neck) told me how to get back to my bus stop.
I was walking on the side of the road when I saw my blue bus pull out of an intersection and head for my stop. I ran like a crazy woman and nearly fainted when she actually stopped the bus, opened the door, and made traffic wait behind her until I climbed aboard.
At the next stop she told me I had to transfer, climbed off the bus with me, and got into a fight with another bus driver about break times while I stood between them clutching my twenty pound bag of dog food.
On our little excursion to the vet for Wilbur's yeast infection the vet said Iams food would be fine (at least she didn't scream at me and call it crap food the way my daughter did!), because with our vagabond lifestyle we would probably be able to find it at most stores.
We didn't, and I finally had to order a forty pound bag from Petco and have it mailed to a marina. We showed up a day before the food did, had to anchor for a night, and ended up being bombarded by a thousand nasty little bugs all night long. During all this Hans keeps reminding me that Wilbur's just a dog and not the next crown prince of Europe.
He's right. But at least Wilbur is cute!
"Go buy your own damn beer!" Wilbur said to this very aggressive cat who tried her best to start a fight.
This is the galley window that acts as a shelf to the cockpit.
Wilbur just ordered dinner.
"Make it as rare as possible with a little bit of au jus on the side, and while you're at it toss in some of those tasty organic (and very expensive) doggy biscuits. But take your time, I'm having a beer."