If you spent any time near the docks in French Harbour a few months ago, you might have caught a glimpse of Buster. He was the kind of dog that moved like a shadow—thin, skittish, with patchiness in his coat and eyes that were constantly searching for a dropped piece of baleada or a safe place to hide from the midday sun.

Three days and two islands later. Every muscle aches, and the exhaustion settles deep into our bones, but it is the absolute best kind of tired.

If you spend enough time between West Bay and West End, you’ve probably seen her: a sleek, confident island dog with a short black-and-brown coat, bright white paws, a white chest, and a colorful collar that somehow makes her look even more self-assured.