“Hey, mister! Can I pet that dog?” asked a kid fresh off the cruise ship, pointing to the old golden lab lying in the corner of the beach bar.
“I don’t know, kid. That’s not my dog,” Mike replied.
Not willing to give a response of his own, the dog snoozed in the sand beneath a plastic table, finding what shade he could in the scorching Bahamian sun.
The child might have been ten years old, and he was the first American stranger we had encountered in months. William, the third of his name, hailed from the Outer Banks of North Carolina. His father, William Jr., sidled up to the bar and, mistaking Mike for a regular, asked if the local beer was any good. Find out if it was at wemarriedadventure.com.