The Maine Thing

I lived in Massachusetts for two years but never managed to get myself to Maine. So when two fellow Dog Parkers and their mums decided to head Downeast, I was on board. We took planes, trains, taxis, and ferry boats to reach a tiny island that had no cars and no stores but plenty of Yankees (and fellow Texans) and their dogs. The whole island was hardly bigger than Dog Park, but it was quiet and green--also mostly mosquito free.

For the better part of a week, I sat on this rock and looked at this view.

Occasionally, I would stroll around the island--a half hour's exertion. As at Dog Park, there were plenty of conveniently placed dog water bowls as well as signage that will strike you all as familiar.

The Casino was a common building down by the dock. As far as I know, the gambling at the Casino is limited to geezer poker nights. In fact, the place is extremely family-friendly. Our whole crew was invited to the weekly Saturday night dinner at the Casino. Every week, several families cook for the entire island. We enjoyed excellent antipasto and manicotti. Alas, no dogs were allowed at dinner. And, because I was a guest, I did not use Stacey's Sharpie to correct the misplaced apostrophes on the dogs' bowls.

The dogs I met were all well behaved, even the ones on the ferries. (Dogs require their own tickets if they were not in carry-on bags or crates.)

Dogs were not so welcome on a neighboring island, which we could reach by foot when the tide was low. Stacey and I trekked halfway around that larger island only to be confronted by this unfriendly sign: "Dogs and other pets are not permitted." The purveyors of a restaurant on this island also overcharged us for lunch.

So we left and never went back. We returned to our tiny island and watched the world pass us by.

-z