Let me tell you about my friend Jim and Butch the Swimming Boxer dog.
We first met Jim when we lived in Sierra Point. Jim had just refurbished an old Westsail 43 after having sailed to, and from, Japan in a Cal 34. We had a wonderful little community in Sierra Point Marina, but things went south and, as in life, changed. Our little circle of boating friends moved on. We stayed in touch with Jim because some people are meant to be in your life.
Jim is one of those people who makes things happen. You can't just say to Jim, "It's a nice day for waterskiing, look how flat the water is," because the next thing you know, your wallet is down a few hundred bucks and you are being dragged behind a rocket. Yes, sir, Jim is a man of action. I'll say one thing in his favor: He is always a gentleman and never swears. However, he will never, ever, on the point of death or torture, take "no" for an answer. Jim has the talent to beat a dead horse until it stands up and pulls the chariot.
Jim's job went away, and so he found employment on the East Coast. I was born and raised in California and can't imagine anything other than living here, but Jim's dad was in the military (perhaps a psychological reason for his slightly stubborn nature?), and they moved around quite a bit.
So anyway, Jim took his 43 foot Westsail Ketch to Alameda and had it put in a cradle and shipped to the Washington, D.C. area, where he planned to live on the boat, to hell with winter, full speed ahead. Butch had never seen snow before. Jim found a charming marina on the Chesapeake that had a swimming pool, gym, nearby stores and restaurants, laundry – everything a liveaboard boater dreams of. Plus it was landscaped and tidy, loved liveaboards and accepted pets.
After the boat left, Jim and Butch the Boxer dog jumped into his old VW bus, towing two motorcycles on a mail-order trailer with wheels the size of doughnuts, and drove across the United States with a four-day deadline. Jim had originally planned on taking the boat through the Panama Canal and up the East Coast, but he procrastinated just a few days too long and lost his crew. Without a backward glance, Jim left California in the rear-view mirror.
If you have ever shipped a large boat, you know that some assembly is required on the other end. Jim took the entire first summer reinstalling the bow and stern pulpits with new hardware, then painted the mast and refreshed the rig with new shrouds, stays and fittings. He probably saved himself at least $35,000. Jim was working but took his time with the boat and talked to people wherever he was. He has always loved happy hour and will stop working so he can get a "good deal" on the bar bill. He loves to talk on the phone and would call me from the bar, telling me what a good deal the drink of the day was and going into great detail about the appetizers. We have spent many a happy Tuesday afternoon with Jim at El Torrito drinking margaritas and watching the jumbo jets land at the airport, so it wasn't hard to imagine him sitting at the bar.
Butch the Swimming Boxer was the other half of Jim. He was a great dog who loved the water. I say "was" because Butch died the second year Jim was in D.C. He was a young dog, strong, and really, really well behaved. I love dogs, but sometimes they are not as well behaved as I feel they should be. Sit and stay means just exactly that, and one should never, ever have to use the command "Down!" Jim had several "outfits" for Butch, including a cowboy suit complete with hat and six shooters, an elf outfit, a skiing ensemble with booties and some other silly things Jim found on the Internet. I think he even had skeleton costume for Halloween. Butch knew several tricks, and good ones, too. He would sit cross-eyed watching a Cheerio balanced on the top of his short snout forever, until he was given the OK. Then, with a toss and a wink, Butch would catch the Cheerio mid-air.
And, oh my, Butch loved to swim! He was raised with two Labradors, natural athletes in the water. A Boxer, however, is engineered differently, with a lot of weight in the shoulders and head. Butch swam like a drowning sailor, snout just above the water, front paws pumping furiously and the back portion of his body, below his neck, completely underwater in a vertical position. It was the damnedest thing to watch. He was noisy, too, chuffing like a freight train to keep the water from sliding down his wide mouth. Jim would fling a tennis ball out into the bay and tell Butch to fetch. The dog would plunge off the dock, and away he'd go, swimming hell bent for leather. He also liked to chase the geese and seagulls, and it took him a long time to figure out that they would lead him way far out into the channel, and then simply fly away. Jim watched Butch chase after a flock of geese one day, and when he felt that Butch had gone far enough, called him to "come." Butch was on a mission and ignored Jim's command, which made Jim crazy (never takes no for an answer, remember?). Jim launched his dinghy and rowed after the headstrong swimmer. When Jim caught up to Butch, the geese had flown away, and Jim was so mad that he made Butch swim all the way back home.
I loved swimming with Butch in the Delta. He wasn't one of those dogs that scratch and paw and try to cling to you. He and I would chase a frisbee that Jim would fling from the boat. I'm a good swimmer, but even with flippers, I had a hard time beating old Butch to the prize. And he had a set to his jaw and a serious look in his eye as if to say, "Don't you dare, this is my game!" "Let the Wookie Win" is my motto.
After Butch died, Jim decided to take a temporary assignment with his company in England. Jim planned to move his boat from the Chesapeake to D.C. in November and found a guy from work to help him make the 120-mile trip. Of course, they got caught in a storm and, just when they thought the end was near, turned into a small channel to find emergency shelter. Jim had no idea there was a small, 20-slip marina tucked away in the channel, but he gratefully accepted refuge. It was such a comfy little spot that Jim left the boat there and flew off to England, where he is working four days a week and seeing Europe the other three. I got a call today from Barcelona, and he simply raved about Amsterdam.
Anyway, that's my friend Jim, and I'm sure we will drink with him again at yet another happy hour. Just as I'm sure he will get another "good dog" and continue to convince people around him to do crazy things on the spur of the moment. He always lands on his feet and always has a good story to tell and is never, ever boring.
