I received this heartfelt tribute from Heidi Tiura and Steph Dutton on August 11, 2004.

Fluke Has Sailed On
Last week, we had several passengers who liked the humpback whales, but they loved our dogs. While Rumba can only take so much petting before she yips and announces she needs some space, Fluke soaked it up as though it was her birth right. Stretching full length on her bed on the bridge, she allowed 4 or 5 kids to pet and cuddle her at a time. Who knew that would be her last cruise with us?

The little golden retriever that appeared out by our house in the middle of nowhere, just 10 hours after we put down our 16 year old Chesapeake Bay retriever, has sailed over the horizon and Steph and I are left standing on this side. We know it was time and we know that she’s in a better place, but we also know how much it hurts to have said good-bye and the holes left behind. Home, the boats, our cars and our hearts feel like Swiss cheese.

Fluke was full of surprises. She loved having affection lavished on her, but one of her many endearing quirks was that if we paused while petting her, she’d rear her head up and stare at us as though to say, “You have nothing more important to do than pet me!” But if the pause turned into a true lull of several seconds, she would stand up and walk off in disgust. It was clear she could take us or leave us; we had to keep on our toes.

Fluke had been badly abused before she came to us. If a dog walked up to her, she lowered her head and closed her eyes, prepared for the worst. We wondered if she would ever feel secure again; we didn’t have to wait long to find out.

Back then, Steph and I were just starting to run a whale watching boat in Monterey. I am sure Fluke had never been on a boat before, but that was where we spent our days, so she had to go, too. I was involved in teaching my Sea Dog School for several days and not on the boat. I worried that she’d have trouble with such an alien environment, but I needn’t have.

I was at the dock after their first trip and watched them pull in. There was Fluke, sitting up on the flying bridge on a cushion, surveying her kingdom with serene satisfaction. That was just the start.

Fluke had a natural sea sense and she rode out rough days with ease. When Rumba joined us, she relied heavily on Fluke, anxiously looking at her peacefully snoozing and bouncing sister for assurance.

As Fluke aged, she found her voice with other dogs. Her absolute favorite thing to do was bitch dogs out at the harbor. Walking to the boat, she’d spot another dog and I could feel the quiet growl through her collar leash. She loved charging at the offending animal and I’d make a big show of holding her back. Then I’d have to explain to the owner she was 14 and this was great fun. At that age and after her tough younger years, Fluke deserved it. After such a display, she‘d would sashay off, tail wagging, immensely pleased with herself.

Fluke always loved Sanctuary most, probably because that was her first command as an owner. Back when we ran out of Santa Cruz and stayed aboard some nights, we’d walk down the dock and Steph would say, “Go find your boat!“ Off she’d run, tail describing a big circle, happily leaping aboard.

On days when she and Rumba hung out while Steph did maintenance, she would pace Sanctuary’s deck with smug confidence, barking at passing dogs just enough to let them know she wasn’t pleased, but never to the point of excess. It just wasn’t her style.

On Princess of Whales, while at the dock, Fluke would position herself on the sundeck, paws hanging over the top step. It would have made a wonderful photo, but every time I had a camera in hand, she stood up and walked away before I was ready. Damn.

Fluke’s spot at the top of the stairs was where she had a good view of passersby on the dock. If no passing dogs were in the offing, she’d bark at people. Just a brief grumble to let them know she’d seen them and she wasn’t pleased. And yet, she was always the perfect hostess when they came aboard. Tolerant of being hugged and kissed and patted and rolled on, she endured it all when we opened the bridge during the cruise back in from the whales.

But each day, at a certain point, she hopped up off her bed and cheerfully made her way to the starboard cabinet where the dog treats are stashed. Wagging her tail, Rumba at her side, their message was clear. It was their favorite time of the day, SNACK TIME!

Any time could be snack time, including the day I left Fluke in the car with a package of Costco muffins. I returned to find 3 chocolate muffins, wrappers and all, missing. Forget that nonsense about chocolate killing dogs, at least not our Fluke. She was perfectly fine and completely without remorse over her binge.

Convinced we would get lost without her guidance on hikes, Fluke took up the lead and kept it. We called her Scout. On a nice walk up along Butano Creek in the redwoods, Fluke led, but kept a distance ahead of us. She’d look back to make sure we hadn’t screwed up, pause briefly, then continue on. She announced the end of our upstream direction by walking out into the creek and lying down in the cool water. After her rest, she got up and headed back downstream. We could follow or not, but we weren’t stupid. We went where Scout went and we never got lost.

Fluke had impossibly long, delicate paws. She'd finish her dinner, check to make sure Rumba hadn't left some of hers, then lie down and cross those paws. Her expression was often the one you see here. Calm, relaxed. Probably thinking about breakfast, since she was always a chow bug. She had a full tummy and life was good.

Recently, Fluke showed us more affection. She'd walk up to one of us, give us a head butt, then relish the scratches and rubs we'd give her. Pushing into our hands, rubbing her head against our legs, a big ol' smile on her face. It sure felt good for all of us.

Fluke always acknowledged Rumba as they trotted along on walks. She‘d dash toward her and nose her muzzle before romping off. Rumba is pretty much in her own world. She’s sweet, but boorish. At doors, she would barge in and Fluke would get pushed aside if she wasn’t savvy enough to wait. But that was Fluke for you. She was savvy. She’d known some tough times and she’d stuck them out. She hit the jackpot with us, as we did with her. I don't really know if Rumba will miss her sister, but we sure will. Sail on, Sweet Girl. See you out there.