I know I just wrote the last entry with a lot of poop references, and here comes another one, but I promise that this won’t be the exclusive content moving forward.

So many people have come to love our little Weezy and it truly brings me so much joy when others are also enamored. And I don’t want to tarnish her image here, but the truth must be told. Sometimes, on rare occasion, Weezy will get a dingleberry. After she thinks she’s finished her business and started to walk away, she realizes that she has a problem. She stops in her tracks and stares up at us pleading for assistance.

We have to act quickly – time is of the essence. If we don’t, she’ll try to fold herself in half and bite the offending turd to free herself. We, and many of her friends, accept too many kisses on the face for this outcome to be permitted. The internet has also told us that pulling out a dingleberry (with a bag covered hand) can be bad for the dog depending on what is causing it to dangle. So what is a doggie parent to do when the doo-doo just doesn’t?

Dingle it harder.

You read that correctly. Just grab her rear end and dingle it harder. Shake her booty for her like she has entered a twerking competition until that dingle drops.

Shockingly, this feels really reminiscent of boat projects. Not just because of the plumbing stuff either. There is a complete lack of dingleberries within the projects, but there are countless hangups. Even within the daily operations that aren’t even considered projects, there are snags that continue to keep us humble. Always humble. Even after a decade of tending to Small World, we continue to find ourselves shrugging our shoulders and consulting trusted friends on a regular basis.

And honestly, that’s more than a little upsetting. I’m over here trying to break free from the patriarchy. I’m tired of being humble when accomplishments deserve a good horn tooting. We got Small World to float and sail again after 5 years on the hard (while mostly unattended). We most certainly had help from friends and professionals, and we absolutely said “hasta la vista” to parts of our sanity (I hardy knew ye…). But what a ding dang journey this has been.

Looking back on the day we splashed Small World in June this year feels like I’m watching someone else’s YouTube channel. By the time that day arrived, the erosion of our faith in our ability to accomplish such feats was significant and pervasive. Neither of us truly believed that we would splash and stay in the water. With all of the doubt from eight months of haywire setbacks and surprises that had already delayed us, how could we think that this process would go smoothly? Especially knowing that many boats splash only to be hoisted right back out when their thru hulls prove to have dried out in the Sonoran sun and started leaking.

Most of the thru hulls on Small World – which have original hardware and will be turning 50 years old – continued to do their job perfectly. Only one of the old Groco cones was letting water into the boat. Do miracles never cease?? But we didn’t want to come back out of the water and we didn’t want to replace the hardware. Which meant… it was time to Dingle it Harder.

Despite the inherent panic and pressure that seems to rise to unbearable levels during Splash Days, we decided to keep everyone there helping us (including the yard staff working after hours) in suspense for just a bit longer. We stayed in the slings of the hoist an extra 15-30 minutes that somehow felt like 2 minutes but also 2 hours. SO EMBARASSING.

I dove into the deep storage where all of our spare parts were squirreled away. Luckily I found our spare vintage cones that we’ve been hoarding for a decade in rather short order. Craig tested each of them. Swapping the cones out for one another is a stressful process that allows water to gush into the boat. So it can be hard to eventually tell if the fitting is leaking, or just dripping from the swap out. Drip, wipe, wait. Drip. Wipe, wait. Wait. Drip. Adjust. Drip wipe wait. Repeat.

Then, the leaks slowed. And just maybe, the leaks stopped. Craig gave it one more wipe, we counted to fifteen and then just stared at each other. No drips. The dingle had dropped.

The lesson here is that a dingleberry doesn’t have to ruin your day or stop you in your tracks. Shake your booty, get some assistance, and find another way.