Wheeling Gull Isle wrap yourself in blankets and give the ocean an inch.

Coelacanth has the good sense to steal heavy gulps of air and hold onto them tight when the smaller female begins to struggle and kick. She becomes aware of the Border Collie’s pregnancy almost immediately, drawn under by the gravid female’s greater weight; it becomes impossible to find their combined center of buoyancy as both of their bodies shift, kick, and wriggle desperately in the water. It is with one hearty yank that she manages to keep them both afloat, practically rearing back so that her spine is perpendicular to the glassy expanse of seawater, but her slim jaws pry open with a muted, involuntary cry of pain. Her shoulder — or neck, or back; it’s hard to pinpoint exactly what hurts — seizes up and spasms as Poppy latches onto her mate’s scruff.

Hey! That’s mine!

The sheepdog’s instinctive possessiveness surrenders to her altruism after a beat, just as her pain surrenders to her adrenaline — and as the Gampr begins moving toward the shore, the Groenendael helps buoy the struggling female with a gentle, steady press of the bridge of her muzzle against one convex flank. Her breath whistles harshly through her nose as she alternates between dipping below surface and coming up for air; the salt of the sea burns, but now she knows why the sea brought her this particular scrap of flotsam: like Hemlock, this female needs sheltering. It never occurs to Coelacanth that her puppies’ future may be jeopardized by her “come one, come all” mentality — just as it never occurred to her that her “love everyone with everything you have” mentality might one day jeopardize her friendships. She simply isn’t wired that way.