My husband strips off to his waist and jumps into disaster with two feet

Day trip. Part 2. 1.30. My husband and I are below deck in a ferry boat cabin, chugging across the harbour towards an island famous for its subtropical gardens. 

Our dog Tilly has just bounded up the cabin ladder and fallen overboard. “DOG OVERBOARD,” my husband shouts, running towards the back of the boat. “DOG OVERBOARD,” I shout, dropping my sandwich and running after him.

At the back of the boat, we scan the ocean in all directions. “THERE SHE IS,” I shout, pointing at Tilly, bobbing around in the ferry boat’s wake. “I SEE HER!” my husband shouts. I look frantically at my husband; If this look could talk, it would be saying, “excuse me, but my brains have also jumped ship and I’m not sure when they’ll be back so in the meantime, we’re going to have to use yours.” My husband looks frantically back at me. This look says, “excuse me, I’m awfully sorry, but mine have too.” We look at Tilly, bobbing around in the wake like a cork. Then back at each other. Together, my husband and I have managed many, many crises over the years but none of them featured a ferry boat with a small dog bobbing around in its wake. Tilly fixes us both with a beseeching look that says, “well, don’t look to me for a solution, I’m just a stupid dog.”