"He's going to see a loon and go over," Caleb said, standing in his parents' driveway in Braham with his hands on his hips, looking at the boat. Then he looked at Hank, who was sniffing the trailer tires. Then at me. "We should practice."
That's how this started. Caleb went to the fishing opener on May 10 with his dad, Ron, in Ron's 16-foot fishing boat, and came home sunburned, happy and saying that Hank would love it out there. Hank loves water, loves Caleb and loves any activity that might involve snacks. What could go wrong.
The life jacket comes first
Before Hank went anywhere near the boat, we bought him a dog life jacket for $45. It's bright orange with a sturdy handle on the back, which turned out to be the most important feature by a mile. Fitting it took some fiddling: snug enough that I could fit two fingers under the straps but not my whole hand, and the chest panel sitting right under his chin so it would keep his head up in the water.
The first time he wore it in the kitchen, Hank walked like a wind-up toy, stiff-legged and offended. After three short sessions with treats, he wagged when I took it off the hook. Hank swims well, but a boat is different: deep water, cold water in May and a dog who might jump out with no shore to swim to. The life jacket stays on in the boat, no exceptions.
Four practice runs
Run one: the driveway. The boat stayed on its trailer in Ron and Linda's driveway, engine off. Caleb lifted all 68 pounds of Hank over the side, which was a whole moment, and we had him lie down on an old rubber-backed bath mat in the middle of the boat floor so he wouldn't slide. I sat in the boat and handed out kibble. Ten minutes, then we lifted him out. Hank thought this was the dumbest thing we'd ever done, but he enjoyed the kibble.
Run two: the dock. A few days later, we launched on a small lake not far from Ron's and stayed tied to the dock, engine idling, so he'd get used to the noise and the rocking. That part went fine. Then we got confident and untied, idling a short way along the shore. A loon surfaced about forty feet off the bow, Hank stood up, put his front paws on the side and went over before Caleb could grab him.
The water there was maybe four feet deep and very cold. Hank came up paddling hard, the life jacket holding his head high, and Caleb reached down, grabbed the handle and hauled him back into the boat in one move. Everyone was soaked. Hank shook himself off directly on me. The loon dove and did not come back. That life jacket paid for itself in its first week.
Our mistake was obvious in hindsight: we rushed from the dock to open water without practicing the "stay down" part first.
Run three: back to basics. We went back to the dock and spent two sessions just on the mat. Lie down, get a treat. Stay down while the boat rocks, get a treat. Stay down while Caleb casts, get a treat. We idled in short loops close to shore and came back the second he stood up. Caleb gave him a chew to work on, which helped a lot.
Run four: a real fishing trip, sort of. Last Sunday, forty minutes on the water. Caleb fished. I held the leash clipped to the jacket handle. Hank lay on his mat and watched the bobber like it was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. Two loons called across the lake, and he lifted his head, grumbled softly and put it back down.
Our boat rules for now
The life jacket goes on before he gets in and comes off after he gets out. Hank rides on his mat in the middle of the boat, never up in the bow. Hooks and lures stay in the closed tackle box, not loose on the floor, because a fishhook in a paw is a vet visit nobody wants. We keep trips short and early, find shade when we can and bring a bowl of fresh water. And if a loon shows up, someone puts a hand on the handle.
We have a lake week near Nisswa coming up in July, and Caleb is already planning his dawn fishing with Hank as first mate. I'll be on the dock with coffee.
Hank's take: boats are fine, loons are still suspicious.
