Salty Pup

Michael came back late one afternoon, all enthused about the Oakland - San Francisco ferry.

"There's a ferry to San Francisco?"

"Yes, it leaves from Jack London Square and it's really great. Fipsie loves it."

"You took Fips on the boat???"

"Yes, they allow doggies ... Fipsie really loved it."

What next? I wondered.

Michael went on about how friendly the people were on the ferry and how they were all charmed by Fipster who, of course, went up to greet them all and "really had a great time."

"You really ought to come, sometime."

So now it was a week or two later and Michael was up for an Oshin passage. It was a mild sunny day and we didn't need to take much other than light windbreakers, a leash and the blue "doggie-canteen" for Fips.

We followed our usual route through Peralta Park, along the channel, across the railroad tracks and up Estuary Park to Jack London Square. Fips, as is his wont, was stumping along merrily. He likes any spaziergang, but he likes it best when a gang does the spaziering.

Mike was right. As we neared the docking area, Fips led the way. Unfortunately, we had missed the earlier crossing, so we had to kill time walking around the docks and looking at old yachts which we fantasized owning. Fips was good humoured, but it seemed to me he was wondering if boat fun was in the offing. He had definitely had an expectation focused on a place.

At length the return ferry docked. We waited in queue under the striped awning as its passengers disembarked. Once our gate was opened, Fips trotted on eagerly quite oblivious to the forest of legs around him.

The ferry was crowded, but we found a seat to the right by the stern of the boat, in the open air. We kept Fips under a tight rein until all the to'ing and fro'ing settled down, and the engine cranked up its motors. To the even churning grind of gears, the boat pulled away from shore and made its way ever so slowly down the Oakland Channel.

Once we hit the open bay, the grind of the gears increased in pitch and we picked up speed. I picked up Fips and the wind rustled through our fur and hair.

There is no question that Fips was having a ball, the sea air in his nostrils, the wind in his fuzzy mane, the secure grip of my hands, the even trembling of the motors, the sun warming his body -- all must have made for a total sensory thrill. He wanted to look -- and did look -- o'er all the expanse of sea.

Nearing the Bay Bridge, an ominous cavernous and creaking sound emanated from on high. In photographs, these famous bay spans look silent and majestic. Until you've stood under one of these leviathan you don't realize how noisy they are. Fips looked up, alerted by the sound; more fascinated than scared.

"Look, Fips. Big Bridge," I said somewhat moronically as Fips went back to nosing the wind.

Once we got to San Francisco, we let the other passengers disembark before we let Fips charge on out. Interesting thing about doggies, is that they sense when something begins, and when something else begins... and something else again. And each new beginning of something is met with fresh excitement. I guess this makes for a kind of on-going happiness.

We had nothing to do in San Francisco but to head on back. By now, though, Fips was getting tired and decided to take a sailor's snooze in the corner, reviving for the walk back home where he sacked out for the rest of the day until chow time.

Mike took several more ferry excursions with Fips and always came back announcing what a fun time doggie-boy had had. I don't doubt dog-man did too.

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