Fergie Speaks

Fergie here. I've decided to take over the column for this week. The topic is diet and exercise, and my mistress, although she has many other fine qualities, is not strong in these areas. I keep trying to show her the way, but if I leave it to her to interpret my message to the world on these topics, she's bound to get it wrong. 

Let's start with exercise. Unlike my owner, I live to take a walk. She obliges me and comes along, but I am the real instigator. I look at her with my "puppy dog eyes", and well, you get the rest of that story. If that doesn't work and she goes a night without walking me, I have another trick. I drive her crazy, running back and forth, barking, throwing my toys at her. This is especially effective if done at bedtime. I think she mentioned my ESP before? Well, it really comes in handy here. I use it to sense the precise moment she is too sleepy to think straight, then that's when I launch my attack. This is not mean. I call it tough love. She needs those walks just as much as I do, I just happen to be more mature about it than she is. Well, actually, we are of about equal maturity, but I just plain like walking so much, and she won't let me go alone, so I have to find a way to get what I want. Believe me, the next night she will gladly grab my leash and call me to the door to avoid another session of well, let's admit it here, torture. 

Now, the whole trick to a good walk is to have a goal. My goal is to go sniff everything edible and otherwise down on the dock. Fortunately for me, my owner, let's just call her MER, also loves the dock. It's about a mile and a half from where we live, so I get a full three mile walk out of the deal. MER, well she gets to sit on the dock and wait for a ferry to show up. Dullsville. But this all gets me what I want, so I play along. I jump when she calls me onto her lap. I sit still while she pets me and tells me I am a good boy. Jeez that gets old. "Are you a good boy, Fergie? Yes, you are, you are a good boy. Good boy!" Good grief is more like it. But again, I get my payoff, so I go along. 

After a while, even she gets bored with the ferry pulling into the dock and we get to walk back. I walk a little slower, even though I secretly love this part. I want her to think this is a bit tough on me. That way, I'm more likely to get scratched and petted when we get home. I do like that part of her shenanigans. I guess if I'm giving lessons as she says, here's one. If there's a place on you that you cannot scratch yourself, and even I have a few, try to trick someone else into doing it for you. Try to make it pleasurable for them by giving them doggie kisses. It involves licking their hands, but don't worry, you can get them back for having to do this by licking other things they'll forget about as soon as you start to give them the doggie kisses. Don't forget to use your eyes. Big, round, and pathetic, that's my motto. 

On to the subject of what to eat. My advice? Get an owner. They are much better at feeding others than they are themselves. That's my experience anyway. I get a steady diet of healthy, plain, dry, dog food. Oh and water, don't forget the water. Yippee! If people fed themselves the same way my owner feeds me, the world would be a healthier place. Maybe not a happier place, but definitely healthier. I keep trying to get this message across to MER, but she's a bit dense here. Don't get me wrong, I love her and all, but she's kind of stupid when it comes to food. 

Now, about what to eat, I'm not saying that once you get an owner, you have to completely submit to them. It's good to make them think you are of course, but there are ways around it. For instance, if your owner is watching TV and puts a snack on a table that's within reach, act nonchalant. And wait until they get up to go to the bathroom. Then sneak over, but be sure to take small portions and try not to get slobber on their snack. Then listen for the flush. That's your cue to get back to where you were before they left the room. You don't have to be that careful about exact placement. Most people aren't that observant. 

There's just one thing more I want you to remember. The next time MER writes a column about a lesson I've taught her, just act normal. I'll get back to you from time to time and give you the real story. And if you see her on the street or at the market, do something for me will you? Pet her on the head and say, "Good girl." But only if she's buying vegetables. 

© M.E. Rollins

Birthday Surprise

When I first came to San Juan Island, I fell in love with walks on the dock, and with B&Bs that have feather beds. I knew instantly that I felt at home here, but didn't know why. I loved the fresh air and the sunshine. I loved that I could walk to anything I wanted to see, buy, or do within the one square mile of Friday Harbor. But when people said to me, "Isn't that where they have whale watching and kayaking?", I'd have to say, "Yeah, I guess so, but that's not why I want to live there." I had to be honest after all. But something happened the week of my birthday that changed all that, in a way that was totally unexpected. It was a birthday surprise, so to speak, from the universe. 

I'd been in California the week before and gathered sisters along the way back north so we could end up on the island for my birthday. It was an act of faith for me since I've never been big on expecting much in the way of birthday celebrations. Something my mother taught me, no expectations, no disappointments. This year, my 56th, my sisters convinced me that I was worth celebrating by coming all the way to San Juan Island, my new home, to celebrate with me. And celebrate we did. We found a teeny tiny carrot cake at King's, not more than four inches in diameter, but completely decorated just as if it were a "big cake". Perfect for three aging, yet still vain sisters, who have learned a little goes a long way in the cake department. We walked to breakfast at Rocky Bay Café. We watched a couple of chick flicks. And the sisters went home with gifts of lavender. Yes, we did all this and more. My dear sisters slept on an air bed and a sofa for two nights just so they could be here for my birthday. And that was wonderful. But the most wonderful part of the weekend they spent here was a gift to us all, and we could not have planned it ourselves, nature herself did it for us. Or maybe it was the whales. 

The morning of the one full day they were here, we woke up to a downpour. No matter. We donned raincoats and dug out umbrellas for our jaunt into town. It was fun and the air was fresh. We stood under the overhang of the movie theater and sipped coffee while waiting our turn for breakfast. We planned our day. There was the lavender farm of course, and we all agreed we must eat fish and chips at some point. Only I knew that if we started at the lavender farm and made our way north to Roche Harbor, we could take the spectacular west side route and see Vancouver island and Haro Strait. So after breakfast, as the rain stopped and things were drying out, we started our tour of the island. After the lavender farm, I unveiled my surprise drive along Westside Road. As we approached Lime Kiln State Park, I remembered a friend had mentioned it is sometimes possible to see the orcas from the park. I said as much to the sisters as I pulled the car into the parking lot. I hadn't planned to stop, it just seemed like it might be fun to check out the park. 

After circling for a parking space, and getting out to look for the trail, we spotted the interpretive center and I popped my head in, meaning to ask about the trail to the lighthouse. The guide there told me she had to lock up because, “the whales are here.” Just typing the words brings back the surprising excitement we all felt at that moment. After she closed the door, she waved us along and we followed her down to the lookout platform and lighthouse, where a crowd of people had gathered. By this time, the sun had come out and the day had changed from rain to blue skies and it was warm and beautiful. 

One sister took off with her camera onto the rocks. The other sister and I stood at the rock wall looking, seeing nothing but a bunch of whale watch charter boats out in the distance. Then, others who had binoculars and were perched on the rocks above us let out a collective shout of glee and excitement. Still we could see nothing. Then, the tiniest profile of an orca leapt clear out of the water out by the boats. It was miniscule. "That's why people take the charter boats." I thought. We stood, scanning the dark blue, almost black water with our eyes. Then we saw the fins. Groups of three, five, or more fins cutting through the water. First at a distance, then getting closer. The energy of the crowd on the shore was building. Everyone stood transfixed, eyes scanning for another glimpse of fin. Then, the first orca surfaced, right at our feet, swimming like a sewing needle up out of the water, then back down again. Over and over, until they'd passed, then circling back to do it again. Then another one, and another one. Then the real show began. Groups of orcas playing at our feet.

They jumped out of the water, singly and in groups. They chased one another around. They seemed to be playing to the crowd as hoops and hollers went up with each new trick. Then, in unison, right in front of us, two beautiful whales stood straight up out of the water, pausing there for a few seconds, exposing their pure white underbellies to us. We, the two sisters in the family who are both widows, were getting a nod from two beautiful creatures who seemed to have a message just for us. It only lasted a moment, but it was something I will never forget. Then, as they sank back into the water, another orca did a backflip and waved a fin at us, as if to say "so long". Then, one by one, the whales swam north. The whole show lasted ten or fifteen minutes at the most. The crowd on the rocks stood for a moment then started to break up like a crowd does after a really good parade. The guide headed back to the interpretive center, saying, "That was J-pod and part of L-pod." 

Well, for the rest of the day, as we drove north admiring the view, as we ate our fish and chips at Lime Kiln Café, then later as we watched our second movie, clear into the next morning when the sisters got in line for the ferry that would start them on their journey home, we couldn't stop talking about the whales. It was the highlight of the weekend. My birthday weekend. We just couldn't get over how lucky we'd been to have lingered just long enough at all our stops before Lime Kiln to get there at the precise moment the guide was locking up. We kept going over the day, saying, “If there hadn't been a line for breakfast, or if we hadn't gone back for that extra lavender plant, and if we'd stayed any longer anywhere along the line, or if I hadn't remembered what my friend had told me, we would have missed them.” And it was true. It was incredible, serendipitous timing. 

I didn't know why I felt like this was meant to be my home when I came here, but now I do. Magical things that cannot be explained happen here, and sometimes you get to see the whales. 

© M.E. Rollins