A eulogy for Bill, the seal-loving dog

August 2023

Bill the dog looking for seal in Mistake Island Harbor, Maine. Photo by Christopher Birch

By Christopher Birch

Bill’s gone.

My wife and I always sail with our dog, Bill, but now he’s gone.

He was our third crew member for over a decade. He sailed with us to Canada and he sailed with us to the Bahamas. In fact, we never sailed our boat without Bill aboard. He weathered storms, savored the shade of the dodger, and delivered joy to beaches. He swam and swam and swam. He was always at my feet when I sat on the starboard settee with my legs up writing for Points East magazine. That’s where I am now, and that’s where Bill is not.

Seals were his obsession. He would search them out, lock eyes with them, and howl a love ballad. The seals proved to be a receptive audience, and they would often stick around. More than entertained, they also seemed to appreciate the curious connection. It’s those eyes they have, so big, so expressive. Bill had the same sort of eyes. Brother from another mother.

Even when there were no seals around, Bill would still look for them. Sometimes he would stand and search in vain for over an hour. Maybe he could smell their presence. Or maybe he was just playing the odds; a hundred percent of the seals you don’t look for go unseen. So you better look.

Provincetown is one of the best places for visiting seals. We often anchor in the deep water inside Long Point. Seals love this spot, too, and dozens of mammoth ones are always swimming and bobbing there. Finding them from the deck of our sailboat was Bill’s constant work in this spot. The action kicked into high gear on the dinghy ride to the beach. The 800-pound lively writhers would come calling as we rowed up onto the shallow bank near shore, often swimming directly under us in clear water only four feet deep. Amazing! So close! I’d ship the oars and take hold of the dog who was frantic and quivering with delight. Then we would float there with me holding my dog in my arms and my dog holding the seals in his eyes.

Even in his last month, thin and frail from the cancer that was eating him up, Bill would make his way to the foredeck at sunset and stand on full alert scanning the steel blue sea for seals. What was it that he wanted from them? And did he get it? Or is there meaning to be found in just the looking and the sharing?

A salty old cab driver in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia drove us to the vet on Bill’s last day. He knew what we were up against and he kindly waited while we went in. When we came back out an hour later, he drove us back to our boat with one less crew member. Along the way he told us how as a kid growing up in Cape Breton, he used to go down to the shore on the weekend with his dad to shoot seals for sport. The unexpected story was delivered apologetically and came across as something of a confession. Another shocking twist that blended well with the horror of our day. Even in death, there were the seals once again.

In good times and bad, that dog of ours had a bond with seals. And now seals will always remind us of Bill. It’s those eyes they have, so deeply knowing and telling. Maybe that’s what Bill was working on all those years: Building meaning for us into the gaze of every seal. There’s love to be found in the looking and the sharing. That’s a good lesson to remember when you live on a cruising boat. There could always be a seal nearby. So you better look.

A dozen years is a good run for a blue standard poodle, and now he’s gone.

Christopher Birch is the founder of Birch Marine Inc. on Long Wharf, Boston. He is now out cruising full-time with his wife, Alex, aboard their 36-foot Morris Justine. Follow their voyage at EagleSevenSailing.com.