My granddad was a swashbuckling crewman on the old lifeboat.
I’m a dentist. Worlds apart.
Of an evening he would entertain us with stories of weather, stricken ships, lives saved, lives lost. Sometimes his mates would come around and light their pipes and share memories.
“Remember The Demeter?” someone would ask. “Now that was a storm. A dark night.”
Heads would shake, eyes flicker from side to side. “Dark, and violent.”
“What happened to the crew?” they would ask. “And all that silver, those coffins.”
“And the black dog?”
My bite is now perfect. I shaped it myself.
This in response to Rochelle Wishoff-Fields’ 100 word challenge