I was making pierogis with friends Tuesday afternoon when I learned that the Wednesday state ferry LeConte would be replaced by a Goldbelt catamaran. The type used for whale watching tours. It’s smaller and faster than the ferry but could not carry the harbormaster’s husband’s construction trailer from Juneau. They had just called her. This was big news. I messed up the crimp in the dough. Lots of us were leaving Tenakee the day after Labor Day with lots of stuff. Cats, jam, fish, weedwhackers. My dog.
The harbormaster’s mother fished pierogis out of the hot water with a wire spoon and said: There’s always an adventure. Turns out the real ferry had a bad fuel issue, or maybe a rag in the engine room caught on fire. I learned that the Goldbelt catamaran ties up in the boat harbor, not by the ferry dock.
Trixie is afraid of the harbor ramp. She won’t go near it. It is narrow, metal and creaks.
A no-go.
I called Chip in Haines for support and my husband said do what you have to do. Wrap her in a blanket and duct tape it. Carry her on. Like a straight-jacket. Trixie can be wiggy.
Forget it, I said. Trying not to cry.
I’ll just stay until the proper ferry.
He said there might not be one for a while if the hard-working old LeConte needs parts. Tenakee isn’t a money maker for the Alaska Marine Highway System. The Haines Highway isn’t a money maker either, I said. The governor has crippled the fleet and the communities that depend on them, yet he spends millions on roads that carry very few vehicles. Don’t get me started. The distraction helped– and didn’t fix a thing.
I’ll figure it out, not a worry, I chirped.
I have been in counseling since March. It has helped immensely. It’s almost a new me, or at least a more steady, confident me. I’ve been bluffing pretty good for years. Like 40.
So, I took a deep breath and exhaled a long VUUUU. Three times. (It’s calming. Seriously.)
And to the dog: Trixie, it’s time to face our fears.
We walked to the harbor, past the scary ramp and onto the beach by the garden to Grave Island, just as usual. Free. Fun. Familiar. On the return, I slipped the leash over her neck and stepped up on the dock. She hesitated. I held out a piece of cheese. Good girl, I whispered. Ten steps later, another bit. Then she backed up. I followed her. We looked at that dock and I said, We can do this. I held out more cheese. We crept toward the dreaded ramp on the long, high (for her anyway) narrow pier. At the ramp (the tide was low and it was steep) I stepped on it, trying to be quiet, which was impossible– but– wonder of wonder, miracle of cheese-fueled miracles, she followed, quickly, without a tug from me. We made it to the bottom and right back up. Just like that. We took another loop around the island and went down that dock again. This time, she walked easily all the way to the long float where the catamaran would be. We walked up and down all the floats. I cheered as we trotted home to pack. Just in case, we came back after dinner and did it again.
In the morning, she followed my wagon (without the leash) down the banging ramp and back up several times as I unloaded the totes and dog kennel. She didn’t even spook when a 4-wheeler and trailer passed us on the float, tarp flapping.
It went so well that I had time for a cup of coffee with the last drop of cream at the cabin before the boat arrived.
It was such shockingly smooth sailing, sunny and calm, that I sat on the deck with her, and unzipped the sunroof on her kennel. She popped her head out, smiling most of the way to Juneau. The best news is that you can teach an old dog new tricks. That one– and this one.
