Just You and Me

Just You and Me

"Hey, You," Bob Thornton said to his Chesapeake Bay Retriever, "isn't this a bugger? Guy shipwrecked, has no one to do but talk to but his dog -- an onlooker might think I was going bananas."

The weekend sailor had accustomed himself to the sinking, no hope for rescue being in the middle of the ocean, and being low on food and water. The sinking had terrified him, but now, five days aboard the lifeboat half-surfing the storm-swollen waves, he was resigned.

"Nothing like reality to sober you up, eh, You? Almost makes a philosopher out of you once the fear's gone." As he chatted on, the dog seeming to listen to every word. The four-legged needed companionship as much as the two.

Robert Thornton had set sail from Port Townsend, Washington, and headed west through the San Juan straits toward Hawaii. He didn't care where he went, but since he'd never been to the Sandwich Islands, that was as good a place as any. The broker who'd made a killing from laser technology stocks was as free as a bird. "Free as those gulls and terns and whatevers flying around, eh, You?" The more he watched, the more he thought.

"But it's a paradox, isn't it, You? We're free, but we're trapped in a life raft with no way to direct our course. Maybe those birds aren't as free as they look, either. I mean, they're imprisoned by their need for food and a place to land. What do you think, You?"

Thornton wasn't crazy. He wasn't talking to himself, never expected to hear an answer, nor was he talking to a dog thinking it was human. The man, known for his clear head, was simply chatting. "Hey, 'normal' folks talk to their pets, don't they, You? And they're not in desperate straits!"

The stock broker had purchasedSail Fishsix months after his windfall, time enough to settle into his wealth and sort out his priorities. Yes, he'd always wanted to be on the water: "That's why I moved to Port Townsend from the landlocked Midwest." Yes, he'd always wanted to sail, "Though I don't know the difference between port and starboard, gunwale and keel,

or boom and mast." So he researched sailing as keenly as he had stocks that had granted his freedom. "Hey, my life might be at risk some day and my knowledge might save me. And, yes, since I'm not attached, I want a companion, too. Why not one of the 'best friend' variety?"

The boat, dog, and trip were not as scatter-brained as some of his colleagues thought.

"You'll be back in a month, Bob, if you don't sink first or get eaten by sharks."

"Well," mused the man to his dog, "the sinking part seems prophetic. Let's just hope the shark thing was just for effect, right?" The chocolate-colored dog perked up an ear as if to agree, then lay his brown head on the wave-undulated, rubber floor.

Captain Bob grabbed the rope handle for support as a roller-coaster wave swooshed the rubber raft and its contents downward into the a deep, smooth trough. He was thankful the storm and sinking were over. "I thought Pacific meant calm, You, yet what a blast those forty-eight hours were! You don't know what you're made of until your boat disappears beneath you," he mused. "And you don't know the real meaning of 'man's best friend' until one saves you!"

For that's exactly what the Chesapeake had done instinctively. No sooner had the storm thrown the man overboard than the brown dog leaped to his rescue. But the sea had been violent: both animals would have perished had the life raft not popped up within arm and paw's reach.

"Thank God I got the big one," Robert said as he stretched his legs. "The one-man would have been a banana peel. And the two-man -- ah, You, you take as much room as a grown man anyday!"

The next wave was only moderately steep, not big enough to warrant grasping the rope, so the man half-relaxed.

"Nothing to do, You, but to talk to you.NowI do sound like I'm going batty, don't I?"

The truth was that Robert Thornton, for all his keen intellect and astute perception, had a definite touch of the romantic. He had applied his ever-alert mind to his stocks as a means to get what he wanted: quit working so he could sail into the sunset. "I know, You, this drifting isn't the same as heading forty-five degrees with a main and jib, but now that the terror of the sinking is over, it's really not so bad. What do you think?" The dog wagged its tail in agreement.

"Yeh, nothing but a romantic adventure. Look at it this way: how many

people can say they've been shipwrecked in the middle of an ocean?"

You lifted both ears as if to reprimand his master.

Robert quickly added, "And fewer dogs can say that."

Bob rested, though not completely since his stomach gurgled. He checked his emergency provisions the umpteenth time.

"You know, You, the guys who put this kit together knew what they were doing. Look at all this stuff." And the man held up each item for the dog's approval. "Everything a shipwrecked sailor could want. Flare gun, reflector, this radio thing that's not worth diddly since I busted it, fishing line and hooks, gizmos to catch rain water, a ton of dried food. Well, what used to a ton." The man threw the empty wrappers overboard. "Might as well keep a taut ship while we have one, eh?"

Bob's romantic streak and companion kept him in good spirits. It was only since he'd eaten the last of the food and heard the resounding gurgles that his grin turned to a frown. "Hey, as long as I've got you, You, I'm okay." But deep down he was beginning to wonder.

What does a dog, a realanimal,do when he gets hungry? Attack the only live meat in his proximity? Is this going to come down to the survival of the fittest where he eats me or I eat him?

Robert Thornton entertained the thought only long enough to dismiss it. Of course he would not eat his friend, his companion, his savior. And if the dog did suggest that he might attack him, he'd throw him overboard. Or die trying.

"There will be no cannibalism in this car," the man quipped, thinking of Mark Twain's famous short story.

It took only two more gurgles before the sailor finally turned to the fishing gear. Conditioned by Midwestern thinking -- that the only fish you kept were the ones you could carry on a stringer, Crappie, Perch, Bullheads and Bass -- he couldn't imagine catching an ocean- sized fish.

"What happens if we hook into aMoby Dick? or aJaws? Oh, God, any thing but a shark!" Romance drifted by quickly.

But Robert knew hehadto fish. Still, he kept the survival knife close just in case. "No fish is going to towmeunder!" And, seeing the big eyes of the Chesapeake, he added, "Or You either, my friend."

So the man and dog bobbed and tossed and rolled and drifted and slid and swooshed. The heat blazed, stomachs gurgled, and the line trailed far behind the raft. Then, all of a sudden, WHAM!

Excitedly, Robert yelled, "What do I do, You? Reel him in? Let him pull

until he's tired? Dog, if I ever wanted you to talk it's now!"

But there was no help from the canine except an absent stare one might interpret as why-are-you-waking-me-at-this-time-of-day?

Since the line tugged only a little after the first, violent jerk, the man tested it by pulling. He gained courage when a stomach gurgle reminded him hehadto land the fish. Thousand-pound Marlins, two-ton whales, and killer sharks vanished from his mind. And, minutes later, an eighteen-pound, mostly-bone fish thrashed in the raft.

"Hey, You, we did it!" and the two devoured the raw flesh greedily. It was the first fresh meal they'd eaten since the disaster. Without thinking, Robert threw out the line a second time.

"Maybe there's a whole school of little fellers down there just waiting to give themselves to You and Yours truly."

And they caught another fish. Like the first, a nondescript, nameless sea creature. "But we're not eating names, are we, You? We're after protein and survival."

After the second feast, Robert wound the tackle and placed it in a pocket of the raft. "There's no use inviting sharks, is there, You?" The dog agreed by banging his heavy, now-happy tail against the floor.

The two slept the beautiful sleep of the full-stomached. Neither cared what he'd lived through nor what was ahead.

In time, Robert's mind wandered into the what-if zone. What if we never get saved, turn into skin and bones, hook a real Moby-Dick? What if Youdoesgo for me? So many what-if's waxed and waned. For a Midwesterner, Robert had already passed the threshold time at sea.

In time, just as a radioman wakes up when there's no static, Robert became aware: the raft sat motionless.

"What's going on, You?"

Robert peeped out. Squinting, all he saw was mirror-smooth water.

"Great. That's all we need: we're becalmed. At least the wind and waves took us somewhere. Now all we can do is sit." Robert looked at his friend with compassion.

"You, you're a true friend. I see why the Seniors who have pets live longer than the animal-less ones. Without saying a word or really doing anything, you give a guy a lot of support. With you I know I'm not alone. Not alone in this raft, the ocean, the earth, or even the universe. The truth is, fella," and he patted his raft-mate's head tenderly, "you're the best friend I've ever had and probably ever will. I don't need any more than

After that declaration, Robert Thornton peered out the raft at the still, empty ocean, closed his eyes, and dozed.

Slowly out of the timeless time of the becalmed, the man sensed a faint drone. Then a hum. The hum grew louder and became thud-thud.

Robert grabbed flare gun, reflecting mirror, and whistle, sounded off with all three. Energized by the activity, the dog sat. He sniffed the air, then barked. Smelling humans brought a howl worthy of a lion. Robert had to restrain him against his instinct to leap into the water and retrieve whatever was out there.

A week later, while luxuriating at the Honolulu hotel pool-side, Robert Thornton smiled at his friend. The dog seemed to smile back. And the doe eyes seemed to transmit a feeling of warmth and camaraderie equal to his.

When Robert spoke, the sun-glassed tourists glanced suspiciously. But the survivor didn't care. The Chesapeake had gotten him through the most trying time of his life and he wasn't going to let a little thing like appearance keep him from showing his appreciation.

"You know, You," Robert said, "while we were on the raft I promised if we survived I'd get you everything you ever wanted. Now I didn't think it'd be your own lake or a hundred splashing ducks to retrieve." Robert ignored the landlubber's stare. "I think you want the same thing I do: to be together. Just You and me. Right?"