Well, at least you folks had a choice about it! Last year we go to check in a country I won't name, since I have no wish to embarrass anyone and this is the internet
, after all.
So, the customs
lady comes to the boat (a cat). She's wider than she is tall. Fortunately, at least we're at a dock
. (I couldn't imagine getting her on board from the dink. That just wouldn't have happened.) Still, with tide, freeboard, etc., it was still a good 20 to 24" from the dock to the deck
. I'm looking at her and thinking "oh, my gosh, what if she breaks a leg getting on the boat. We are scrreeewwwed!"
So, I step up on deck
to offer her a hand (gallant fellow that I am) and as she's about to gingerly step on the boat, that's when Sam Dog (an 80 lb Labradoodle) decides he's got to protect us. Even though Sam Dog is safely ensconced in the salon
, even with the door closed, he's still sounds pretty intimidating. The customs
lady jumps like somebody just gave her a hot-foot!
Oh, crap! She's stumbling! Towards me! She's gonna break her leg, I'm gonna die, Sam Dog's gonna get euthanized, and Deb won't even be able to get over the mountain of human flesh to get off the boat and get help and even if she does, she'll get detained, 'cause we aren't even checked in, yet!
Well, I don't know how she did it, but she managed to catch herself, without falling. As she looks at me, she catches me glancing at the waterline on the aft transoms (I couldn't help myself, honest, it was reflex!). Great, now I've insulted her, this is going so wonderfully.
She steps into the cockpit
, Sam Dog's still going off, she looks terrified. By this time, she's all hot and sweaty, so I offer her a Coke, which she accepts and swills down in a couple of gulps.
After that, things went smoothly and quickly. "No, I don't wanna see the dog! The dog don't like me. No, I don't wanna go in the boat. You got cash? Gotta have cash."
She gets the cash, the paper work gets done and she crawls on knees and hands on to the dock and off the boat.
Q-flag down, we're in!