Don had more money than he knew what to do with so he never could tell just who his real friends were; except for his two lovely poodles, Triksy and Diksy, his faithful parrot Egor, and the two nice young ladies he’d met that day.

Don’s problem with crew could finally be solved because Sandy and Judy had offered to look after the yacht while Don was down in Brisbane interviewing potential voyagers on the next leg of ‘Crusaders’ round-the-world jaunt.

For a week the girls just balled. The list of things to be done flapped lightly against the teak bulkhead with the early morning breeze which stirred the yacht to lie against the changing tide and rock the babes out of their dreams.

Judy made coffee while Sandy stretched out on the bed with a crumpled sheet dragged across her hip. But not for much longer; Don would be back on the midday plane.

Together they washed up and tidied the cabins. Sandy scrubbed the stale dogshit of the foredeck and brushed the dogs. Instead of the usual little dears, the loved ones, to the girls they had been nothing less than a double pain in the arse, always under their feet demanding food or affection. Finally Sandy had just tied them up to the bowsprit rail near the anchor winch with a bowl of water, and sort of hoped they wouldn’t hang themselves by jumping ship.

But now they were yapping away and skipping around panting and wagging like clock-work animation in fast-forward. Egor, unruffled, sat solemnly above an overlooked pyramid. His feet seemed to grow into the wooden perch. He hadn’t been much trouble at all, just sat there, fed on sweet biscuits.

Don arrived happy but a little disappointed. The two new crew would not be there for another week, but that was okay. “It’s so good to back,” said Don patting both dogs at once, “and you two girls have done such a good job I think you deserve a bonus!”

“Sandy smiled as she made coffee for them while Don got out his wallet. As she stepped toward the table though, one of the poodles jumped up on her leg, spilling just enough coffee to burn her wrist.

“Gwweerrrrk, fuckin’ poodles! Gwweerrrrk, fuckin’ poodles!”, squawked the ever-watchful Egor.