Mediterranean Sea

It was unusually warm for this time of year but nobody here was complaining. Maybe it was the results of the hooch or festive mood. They took off their swim trunks, bikinis and jumped overboard into the deep, dark blue Mediterranean Sea. It was a very nice boat, yacht some would say. The sky was cloudless with stars too numerous to count. One had yet to disembark and was moments away from committing a fatal mistake.

He refilled the dog’s water bowl, then promptly dropped his trunks to the deck and jumped into the water. It was a perfectly executed cannonball to the gratifying appreciation of his three compadres. Near that dismount point lay a flat coil of rope, like all tidy seamen would keep. The dog had been barking incessantly since the first jumped into the water. It put its paws on the rail, looked at the four and continued to enthusiastically vocalize its discontent.

“Oh, I hope he doesn’t jump in,” said one of the swimmers.

“Buddy, stay,” said the dog’s owner showing two hands in the stop position. “Stay Buddy, good guy. Stay.” The dog had learned to respond to hand signals from an early age, to the pride of his owner. Buddy would abide, but the barking continued.

The music blared loudly from aboard the 60-foot boat while the frolicking got underway. One couple locked in an amorous embrace while kicking their legs in pleasing symmetry staying afloat. The other two were playing chase, the woman swimming circles around the boat with the man chasing. He’d never catch her unless she took mercy on his below average swimming skills. She would eventually relinquish, much to his relief. But the relief would be short lived. The music stopped and the gravity of their situation was soon to take root.

“Why don’t you go back on board and put on some more music,” said the good swimmer.

“Great idea, what do you want to hear,” replied her male cohort.

“Abba,” the other three responded in resounding unison.

“So it shall be.”

Then the dramatic pause. Cause for alarm was escalated, then fully realized. “How do we get back aboard? Were we supposed to drop that rope ladder or something over the side?” He was a guest on the boat. As he asked the question he thought this may bode catastrophically bad, and hoped to be proven wrong.

The boat offered no rear ramp or stairs for easy reentry from the sea. Was there no getting back aboard? Not just to change the music, but to save their lives. The four huddled up in a serious circle paddling, staying afloat. They tried jettisoning the lightest of the four up out of the water, reach up for a rail, but the rail was too high at eight feet over the water’s surface. The sea was very calm with no more than six-inch waves. Not enough to help in the effort to scale the side. They continued taking turns throwing the lightest person out of the water up toward the rail, but to no avail. With no solid ground or counterforce they were unable to generate enough propulsion. The lightest person consistently fell far shy of the goal. Realizing that this would likely not work, they looked around to assess their options. They were miles out to sea. In the night they could see lights ashore, but the distance dictated that an effort to swim for land would be a death wish. Would staying close to the boat prove any different?

After an hour the four resorted to floating on their backs to conserve energy. The hours passed and, despite the warm air, the cold of the water eventually settled in and they were shivering miserably. They were hoping for another boat but none came and it was hours yet before dawn. The local fishermen would be out soon and could save them, but could they remain aloft long enough? Days could easily pass before the vessel was reported to the authorities. ‘A boat four knots from shore appeared to be unmanned’ would read the report. It could take a day or two before the local coast guard would investigate.

As the sun rose over the Mediterranean there was just the one boat, one hoarsely barking dog and a gentle rolling sea of a beautiful blue.

They started with the megaphone.

“Hello. If you’re on board please come out on deck.” There was no response. The coast guard slowly pulled up alongside, their port side to the empty yacht’s starboard side. They dropped rubber boat fenders over the side to protect from hull on hull contact, the crew lassoed the other boat’s rail, pulled and tied the two tightly together.

The coast guard sailors jumped aboard the seemingly vacant vessel without delay and quickly confirmed its emptiness. Well, empty of humans, anyway. There was a dog lying on its bed. No tail wagging, not happy to see anyone and no eye contact. That told of its mood. The dog was thirsty, but not aggressive. Judging by the condition of the food debris the dog had been alone for about seven days. Dishes from a large meal were in the galley sink. Crackers, cheese and cake were on the table. Dry, but good enough for the dog who’d clearly been nibbling on leftovers. His water bowl empty but he showed no signs of suffering. The four sets of swim trunks and bikinis on deck told the tale.

The coast guard was a model of efficiency conducting a survey of the vessel. Buddy, meanwhile, remained unmoved, aside from accepting water. While he was drinking, one of the coast guard checked his tag. “Buddy. Hey, Buddy, you’ve probably had a terrible few days. What happened here?” But Buddy wasn’t talking. He retreated back to his bed to wait. For what exactly he knew not.

Having conducted their preliminary search they would hook up the boat for a tow back to shore. The crew disembarked the 60-footer and embarked their own. The sailor looked back and called, “Buddy, come.” With a sigh and a long pause, as if reviewing his own circumstances and possibilities, he made his decision. He got up off his cushion and changed boats. For the first time, while stepping aboard, he made eye contact with the one who called his name. In that moment he took a measure of the man who would become his new person. Buddy recognized that his future was uncertain, at least to him, but the sailor was already making plans to annex the sad beast. With plans for a fluffy dog bed and chew toys for his new friend, he freed their port side from the empty yacht’s starboard side.

[Inspired by a news report or urban myth of many years ago regarding an empty boat found floating miles out at sea.]