A Day in My Life — By Bolt lol...a very good boat dog

Boat dog. Beach connoisseur. Paddleboard enthusiast. Beagle terrier. East Coast, Bahamas, and now the Caribbean.

We had a little fun with this one. We often look at our dog and pretend to think about what he's thinking. So here it is — a funny twist, a view of Bolt's everyday. We promise we are not losing our minds, and we definitely have a great sense of humor.

Let me tell you something about my life. I have been to more places than most dogs will ever dream about. I have napped in the Bahamas. I have felt the sun on my back in more anchorages than I can count. I ride a paddleboard to the beach. I do this regularly. It's just my life.

I'm Bolt. And yes, it's exactly as good as it sounds.

6:00 AM — The Morning Check

I wake up before everyone else. This is intentional. I do a full assessment of the situation from my spot in the sun — checking the light, checking the air, checking whether anyone is going to get up soon and take me to the beach. The answer is usually not yet. I wait. I'm very patient. I'm also very good at communicating that I would like to go to the beach now, please, through a series of looks that the family has learned to read accurately over the years.

7:30 AM — Beach Walk

Well, if I'm lucky. Sometimes my humans are slow and we go around 9.

This is the highlight. Every morning, without fail, we go to the beach. I take this responsibility very seriously. There are smells to investigate. There is sand to feel under my paws. There is the whole edge of the ocean to patrol, which someone has to do and I am happy to volunteer.

I do not rush the beach walk. I have been to a lot of beaches and I can tell you that each one deserves proper attention. The smells alone require significant time. The family has learned to be patient.

9:00 AM — The Paddleboard

If there is nice weather, they take me to the beach on the paddleboard.

This is not new thing for me and I want to talk about it. They put me on a paddleboard and take me across the water to the beach. I stand at the front. The wind is in my ears. The water is right there below me. I can see everything from up here — fish, the bottom, the whole world.

I have heard that some dogs are nervous on paddleboards. I don't understand this. The paddleboard is magnificent. I am magnificent on the paddleboard. We are a good team.

When we reach the beach I jump off like I've done it a thousand times, because I basically have. No big deal. Just another Tuesday for me.

10:00 AM — The Dinghy

Now. The dinghy. Let me tell you about the dinghy.

I stand on the bow. This is my spot. Non-negotiable. When we take the dinghy anywhere I am at the front, ears back, nose forward, watching everything. I look good up there and I know it. People notice. They always notice. We'll pass another boat and someone will grab their camera. We'll pull into a marina and people will stop what they're doing. I have been photographed more times than I can count by complete strangers who apparently cannot help themselves. I understand. I don't mind. I just keep looking forward like the very important boat dog that I am. Sophia thinks it's hilarious. I think it's just Tuesday.

11:00 AM — Prime Napping Hours

After the beach, after the paddleboard, after all of that important work, I find my spot in the sun and I nap. This is not laziness. This is recovery. Professional athletes rest after training. I rest after my morning patrol. It's the same thing. The sun on the boat deck is warm in a way that is very hard to describe unless you have experienced it. I have experienced it many, many times and it never gets old. I curl up or spread out, I close my eyes, and I think about nothing at all. This is one of my greatest skills.

2:00 PM — Afternoon Duties

I check on the family. Sophia is drawing or playing guitar — I like to be near her when she does this. Anna is doing something in the galley that usually smells interesting. Tony is looking at weather on his phone, which he does a lot. Everyone is accounted for. My work here is done.

I find another patch of sun. I resume napping.

3:30 PM — The Thing I Will Not Discuss

Sometimes, without warning, without reason, without any justification whatsoever — they give me a bath.

I don't want to talk about it. I will say only this: I do not deserve it, I do not enjoy it, and I make my feelings known throughout the entire process. The indignity of it. I am a well-traveled, highly respected boat dog who rides paddleboards and gets photographed by strangers and I am being shampooed in the cockpit like some kind of land dog.

Afterwards I shake myself off as dramatically as possible and find a corner to sulk in for exactly the right amount of time. Then Sophia gives me belly rubs and I forgive everyone. I'm very reasonable like that.

5:00 PM — The Dinner Prance

I want to be clear that I am a very chill, very laid back dog. I don't get worked up about things. I am unbothered by most of life's circumstances.

Dinner is the exception.

Around five o'clock something happens to me that I cannot fully explain. I know it's coming. I can feel it. And I begin to prance. Just a little at first — a gentle trot around the cabin, a pointed look at the galley, a very casual reminder that I exist and that I am hungry. If that doesn't work I prance a little more. The family finds this extremely amusing for reasons I don't fully understand. I find it completely reasonable. It's dinner. It's important. Someone has to make sure it happens on time and apparently that someone is me.

I prance until the bowl appears. Then I am chill again. Balance restored.

6:30 PM — Sunset (Apparently This Is a Big Deal)

We all go up to the cockpit for sunset. This is a family thing and I fully support it because it means everyone sits together and someone usually ends up giving me belly rubs.

The sky does its thing. The humans get very excited about this. They say things like "look at that color" and "get the camera." I appreciate their enthusiasm. Personally I am focused on the belly rubs. Sophia is very good at belly rubs. Tony is adequate. I position myself accordingly and let the sunset happen around me.

I'm told the sky is beautiful. I'll take their word for it.

8:00 PM — Night Watch

Before bed I do one final check of the boat. Bow to stern. Everything in order. The stars are out — they're always incredible out here, though I'm told humans find this more remarkable than I do. The boat rocks gently. The family is settling in.

I find my spot. I circle twice. I lie down.

Another day in the Caribbean. Another perfect day.

Someone has to live this life. I'm glad it's me.

— Bolt 🐾