Tatoosh Island
I wrote this story this afternoon, but I've been thinking about some of its pieces over the course of the last week. Last weekend, my good life-long friends, Darren and Tonja, hosted my daughter Carly and I for a photography weekend. On a hike out to the very tip of Washington State, Cape Flattery, I took this picture of Tatoosh Island. My father was stationed there about 60 years ago. He told me the story of a dog, like Shaker, that had broken its back and then learned to walk on its front paws. Like Shaker, it had recovered the use of its back legs but continued to walk on the the front two a good deal of the time.
I really can't remember if my dad was still in the Coast Guard while he was on the Island, or if he was part of the National Weather service, at the time, nor what year that may have been. I also don't recall whether the real life dog from his story was from his stay on Tatoosh, or at some other place or time in his life. I also don't have any clue as to the actual ownership of Tatoosh Island, but chose to leave it in the capable hands of the local tribe for the purposes of this story and for the sake of my character Derek.
I also went with this story, as it seems like it could hook up with the last story and breed a longer tale. Though, I've been pondering (though not ruminating, mulling or dwelling upon) whether too many damaged main characters might be a little overwhelming.
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