Happy Birthday Wilbur...

                   
              ... oh, and to my mom too!

When we took Wilbur in we knew from his vet records that he had originally been adopted out at approximately 11 weeks of age.  His previous owners (back yard breeders) only had him for one day when one of their pregnant female pit bulls nearly mauled him to death. After his owners relinquished custody of the little guy to the clinic and he landed in our life we calculated his age, went back in time, and figured he had most likely been born in mid January.  My mother's birthday is January 16th so we thought, what the heck, she won't care.
And as an animal lover she certainly didn't.

Fractured scull, punctured throat, torn ear, damaged eye, and many contusions.

A very handsome little man on the mend.

From poster boy to calender boy (Wilbur was the June, Hunk of the Month,  in last years Pit Bull Frog Calendar).

This dog has been nothing but a joy to us ever since the day he walked (and grunted like a pig) into our lives.  He's been a wonderful boat dog, a heating pad on cold nights (and hot nights whether we like it or not), a fantastic pre-dish-washer-plate-cleaner, and a very patient listener while I yak and yak and yak at him all day long.

He's put up with horrendous heat (2 months of nearly 100 degree temps during our Chesapeake Bay debacle back in 2010), rough overnight passages, and choppy seas, yet he continues to give us unconditional love.

So, today he got to spend his special day at Doggy Day Care where he played all day long with his doggy friends and came home with a little birthday bag full of treats. And even though he's usually stuck to us like glue, he was so tired tonight he went down below to our berth a couple of hours ago and has been snoring away ever since.

The only spoiler here will be attempting to move the little stinker into a more favorable position when we try to get into bed as Wilbur has apparently acquired a pretty handy dandy no fail anchor.

But it's his birthday and we'll just have to live with it.

A Fun Family Weekend

Hans' baby brother came all the way down from Canada this past weekend to celebrate his 45th birthday with us.  

We were thankful for two things; the first being that I was able to get our boat out of the slip without smacking into our new neighbor (a very impressive Beneteau), and that we were able to sail in the Gulf all day long before anchoring for the night.  

The only problem that perhaps slightly overshadowed our wonderful weekend was my horribly-gone-wrong haircut. In all my years on this earth I've never been as stunned as I was this past week with what I'm calling the hair cut from hell (dirty dishwater blond, dutch boy bowl cut might give you an idea) which explains why I'm not in any of our pictures and why I'm sure Hans is thanking any and all  Gods that I got it re-cut today.  

A man should only have to put up with so many tears.

PS, I'm still not completely happy but thank God my hair grows fast. 

Holy Crap!!! We actually put up the main!!!

Wilbur loves the birthday boy, Uncle #1

Wilbur suffers so in these cold Florida temps. Brrrrrrr

Wilbur's Uncle #2 enjoys our new anchorage

The Knotty Cat after a fun weekend.  Look at all the dishes (which I actually enjoy washing)!

Baby Brother, Hans, and Wilbur's best side.
(Check out my holiday dock box)

We ended up anchoring in the same place we did on day one of our Turkey Tour.  Something was noticeably different this time though and that was the giant influx of Angry Birds. As evening approached and we sat in the cockpit we couldn't help but notice thick clouds of noisy black birds (crows?),  ala  Alfred Hitchcock, noisily flying overhead.
I remember being awakened in the early morning hours the next day by the noise of these birds and I swear I thought they were sitting right outside our hatch (which I eventually found out they were). "CAW CAW CAW!"  uh oh uh oh uh oh"  "HA HA HA!"  "warble warble warble", went their conversation just over my head.
Wilbur's Uncle #2  happened to be up early and was sitting in the cockpit at that time and he told us we had at least 50 birds perched on our mast, boom, forestay, backstays, and jib.

I'm just thankful that they didn't use us as a port-a-potty and we only had a few poopy bird messes to clean up.

Wilbur had a wonderful time too, but after our guests left it would appear he slid into a slight depression.
Thus the conversation overheard in our berth around 3 AM last night:

Hans:  What the hell? Why are our sheets wet? Did someone piss the bed?
Me: Huh?
Hans: Someone pissed the bed!
Me: Well, it wasn't me!
Hans: It wasn't me either!
Wilbur: Snoooooooooooooooore.

Epilogue:

If Wilbur starts ripping the wings off flies and starting fires, I fear we may have a future serial killer on our hands.

It Be My Birthday!

And I'm very happy to note that fifty-one bothers me a lot less than fifty did. I have no idea why, but I'm not going to question it.


We are still hovering around Hollywood (thanks to needing our dodger replaced and our main sail repaired yet once again), and yesterday a friend of ours lent us his car. We were off and running lickity split, and were able to accomplish quite a bit from 10 AM to 8 PM. Of course my first concern was for Wilbur, whom we could not leave on a hot boat all day long, and thanks to the Internet I found us a doggy day care.


The only draw back was the fact that here in Hollywood they are not allowed to 'socialize' pit bulls with the 'normal' population.

I kid you not!


You can see why we sometimes refer to Wilbur as 'Wilbur the Red-Nosed Pit Bull' as he's not allowed to play in other doggy's reindeer games.

Anyway, the people at Camp Canine were very nice, and since Wilbur ended up being segregated from the general pupulation (misspelling intentional), he received a lot of one on one attention from the staff. Just before I departed I got to see Wilbur having a major zoomie session (via a TV screen with video) with one of the employees. He had a blast and everyone loved him. What a shame that this lovable breed has gotten such a bad rap. I only hope it's true that 'Time wounds all heels' (get it?).


We purchased snorkeling gear (my birthday present from Hans), first aid supplies (my gift to Hans), a very deadly spear for fishing (just don't piss me off), jerry cans for water, a solar shower (mostly for me), dog food, doggy nail clippers (what a joke), a new rope toy (for Wilbur, not Hans), six weeks worth of beer (for Hans, not Wilbur), and another hundred and fifty dollars worth of groceries (added to the approximately thousand dollars worth that I've already stockpiled).

In addition to all this running around we managed to visit the cemetery where Hans' parents are buried. Hans' mother died at the age of 40 when Hans was 18 and his father died in 2001 at the age of 79. Buried with them are Hans Sr.s' mother's ashes, and my heart goes out to Hans' mother as this somehow seems a bit cruel.


Today Hans finished replacing the hoses and antifreeze on the port engine, and I did yet one more load of laundry and cut out some canvas for what I hope will become a Wind Scoop for the hatch to our berth. I also took Wilbur for a walk, and while he sniffed like a blood hound at his new favorite smell (bird poop with a side of barnacles) I tried not to have a major heebeejeebee attack when I spotted a very wet and very dead rat within a few feet of us, and luckily I was able to get Wilbur the hell out of there before he spotted it too!






An 'after daycare' picture of Wilbur.


"I don't care whose birthday it is! I love my new rope toy and that's all that matters!"

That's our boy!