I’ve heard of boat dogs trained to pee over the gunnel and use a two-foot-square piece of Astroturf for everything else. Unfortunately, the dog we sailed, powerboated, and cruised with for 14 years would never countenance such public displays. He was a standard poodle—probably, or mostly—and although he was always either so trimmed down or overgrown that he looked like a whippet or a black sheepdog, and was regularly taken to be some sort of mud-mutt, he was smart, and maybe a bit vain, and there was no Astroturf solution for him. Give him solid ground or give him death. Not just any old place on shore, either—he wanted a private one—and if you’ve ever seen a big dog trying to disappear behind a lamp-post you’ve seen the definition of demure.

He was about 65 pounds, and when in his sheepdog trim he could absorb an additional 30 pounds of salt water and 50 of sand. He was a strong swimmer and was even a diver who was happy to fetch things off the bottom, yet he deeply resented being hosed off or rinsed with a bucket in the cockpit, and would go to great lengths to avoid it.

None of this was a big deal buzzing around near home, but we cruised with him, too, often for a week or more at a time on our 26-foot powerboat, which has an inboard diesel, a cuddy cabin with a bunk and porta-potti, and not much room for a big wet dog.

Once, with a steady rain falling and a chilly easterly blowing, I rowed him in to a nice deserted cobble beach, backed by a long thicket of poison ivy. Directly into the thicket he plunged for his contemplations. When he emerged with a spring in his step and a rejuvenated look on his face, I had him fetch sticks out of the water for a while to rinse off the poison ivy oil. He then clambered into the dinghy for the trip back to the boat, still with roughly 11 pounds of sand in each paw. Both of us shivered in the rain, and when I grunted his great soggy bulk back aboard and turned to tie up the dinghy, he dodged right down into the cuddy and curled up on our fleece blanket—my wife’s side—for a nice cozy nap. It continued to rain for another two days.

The challenges of cruising with a dog are many, but so are the benefits. That big black muddy stink-bomb (his name was Falco, after one of Jacques Cousteau’s divers) was a constant companion on the water—watchful, patient, always enthusiastic, always read to roll, and just as excited as his humans to make new passages and see new sights. And the flip side of having to row him to terra firma a few times a day was that I got to row a lot, see some new spots that I might not have seen, and very often meet other cruising dog owners and their dogs. And at the next stop on the cruising circuit there was always a lot of tail-wagging, high and low.

If you’ve never taken a dog cruising, there’s plenty of good advice available online about how to do it. You could start with the article Cruising with Dogs: Five Tips to Keep Fido Safe and Happy. Or read Dogs on Boats 101 by Carolyn Shearlock. As Carolyn points out, most advice on this topic can’t take into account the personalities, habits, and training of either dogs or owners, and the fact is that sometimes it’s just a terrible idea for a particular person to take a particular dog on a boat. However, given a reasonably well-behaved, sensible, willing dog and a similar owner, it’s usually a joy all around.

Given the variations possible, here are a few specific bits of advice I can pass along from my years aboard with Falco, and with other cruising friends and their dogs.

As a rule, nervous, jumpy people and nervous, jumpy dogs don’t do well on boats, especially when combined.

Dogs who can’t obey commands are even less fun on boats than they are on shore.

Personalities and training aside, small dogs are easier to manage on boats than big dogs. They take up less space, need less food and water, and make less of a mess. They’re also easier to lift, easier to transport in dinghies, and easier to carry if carrying is needed.

Keep the water bowl full and make shade for the dog when the sun is up. Dogs don’t sweat, they pant out moisture, and they can get dangerously hot on boats. Let them cool off in the water often. If your dog doesn’t swim, use cool water from a bucket. And stand back.

Dogs can get seasick, especially when they’re puppies, when they’re new to boats, or on rough-water passages. Usually they get over it when things settle down. Keep water available, and if the situation stays miserable, talk to your vet about antihistamines or anti-nausea drugs.

As in a house, the dog should have its own bed on board—the big pillow type with a sturdy cover is fine. The bed can move from down below to the cockpit or the foredeck as necessary, and the dog will always have a comfort zone to retreat to.

Paws and claws provide traction on the ground, not on fiberglass. Smooth gelcoat is like ice for a dog, and even molded non-skid surfaces don’t help much. So any time you’re underway in a chop, make sure your dog is in a secure location, maybe with a lead attached to something solid, and with something grippy to stand or lie down on. A patch of indoor-outdoor carpeting secured to the deck, or a dedicated cockpit-sole mat, will work fine.

Invest in a high-quality combination PFD and harness with a well-sewn handle on top, and keep it on the dog any time you’re underway or when there are activities that might land the dog in the water. Even if the dog is a good swimmer, the PFD will keep its head higher, keep it warmer, give it confidence, and most importantly the handle will make it much easier for you to get the dog back aboard, even if you have to use a boathook. On shore, you can clip your leash right to the harness.

Old Falco made his way to Fiddler’s Green a few years ago, and we’re cruising dogless for now. But we still row ashore to meet owners and their sea-dogs. We’ll look for you out there.

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