"Keys Voices" author/editor Carol Shaughnessy (in shoe at left) and her friend Maria Newman try Sushi's shoe on for size. (All photos by Andy Newman, Florida Keys News Bureau)

That’s because, each year, the island city’s offbeat populace stages three wonderful warm-weather takeoffs on the fabled New Year’s Eve “ball drop” in New York’s Times Square: the “red shoe drop” featuring elegant drag queen Sushi in a super-sized red high heel, the “drop” of a giant manmade conch shell (the symbol of the Florida Keys) above legendary Sloppy Joe’s Bar, and the descent of a winsome pirate wench from the top of a majestic sailing ship’s mast in the Historic Seaport.

But before that happens each New Year’s Eve, Key West goes to the dogs. Dachshunds, to be precise. And this year, there were 227 of them — all parading down Fleming Street in the tail-wagging, smile-inducing annual Key West Dachshund Walk at noon Dec. 31.

The long-bodied, short-legged participants included miniature and standard dachshunds, many of them costumed or wearing offbeat accessories.

Esme O'Kelly carries her canine Duna, costumed as an iguana, during the Key West Dachshund Walk.

Among the standouts were a pair of dogs dressed as Green Bay Packers cheerleaders, “party animals” in feather boas and top hats, a floppy-eared Elvis impersonator, a “horse” with a cowboy doll rider, and a “newshound” dubbed Woof Blitzer — who wore a functioning video camera and shot dogs-eye footage of the wacky walk.

Key Wester Esme O’Kelly dressed her nine-year-old dachshund Duna as a bright-green iguana with a three-foot-long tail (the costume, Esme confessed, was constructed out of green fishnet stockings!). Duna, who didn’t seem to mind wearing it at all, ambled down the street attracting attention from hundreds of dachshund-loving spectators.

Later on New Year’s Eve, the focus turned from dachshunds to divas — led by the dazzling Sushi and covered live during Anderson Cooper’s New Year’s Eve show on CNN (for the ninth consecutive year, believe it or not!).

Sushi prepares to welcome 2012 during the New Year's Eve "drag queen drop" in Key West.

Thousands of revelers gathered on Key West’s Duval Street outside the Bourbon St. Pub/New Orleans House complex to watch the lavishly costumed Sushi “drop” in her high-heeled chariot.

“About 15 years ago we started a tradition here in Key West of me being lowered in a giant glittery red shoe, at the stroke of midnight, in full drag,” said Sushi, otherwise known as Key West resident Gary Marion.

An incredibly talented seamstress and costume designer, this year she created a vivid tangerine gown for the event. Its Victorian flavor was inspired by the upcoming centennial of the Florida Keys Over-Sea Railroad.

CNN’s stellar John Zarrella, dashingly dressed in a tux despite the balmy weather, provided lighthearted commentary to viewers around the world as drag queens and dancers entertained before the “drop” — enthralling spectators that ranged from couples to seniors and families.

2012 got off to a wonderful start in the fabulous Florida Keys.

“When I was a little kid I never really dreamed about being in drag, let alone being lowered in a giant red heel,” Sushi admitted. “What a way to make a living, though — it’s fabulous.”

Seconds before midnight, the shoe and its passenger were lowered from the complex’s second-story balcony toward the cheering crowd below.

As midnight struck and 2012 officially began, Sushi landed and gleefully popped the cork on a ceremonial bottle of champagne.

Dachshunds, drag queens and lovely 70-degree temperatures even at midnight … what a way to welcome 2012!

And in the often magical Florida Keys, it’s a good bet that the rest of the year will live up to its kickoff.

A trio of canine "kids" awaits the arrival of Santa Keys. (Photo by Mary Threlkeld)

While Keys visitors partied in warm outdoor bars,
toasting friends with mojitos sipped under the stars,
Christmas spirits had plans for the cold “refugees”
who were physically elsewhere but craving the Keys.

That’s why, out on the beach, there arose such a squawking
of unsettled seagulls in seagull talk talking
that drivers of cars cruising next to the ocean
couldn’t figure out what had caused all the commotion.

The moon on the shining white crescent of beach
made the shoreline of Cuba seem almost in reach
when what to the drivers’ amazement appeared
but a Santa in flip-flops and seaweed-decked beard.

Elves riding golf carts? Santa Keys' helpers in Big Pine use some unconventional vehicles when assisting the big guy. (Photo by Neysa Threlkeld)

Now, this Santa was wise and this Santa was bright
and he sure sympathized with the northerners’ plight.
In his past life, before heading south for the sun,
he too spent the winter months freezing his buns.

So he hijacked a sturdy old boat used for fishin’,
found some Key deer to pull it and started his mission.
Sailing skyward to surf on a tropical breeze,
he steered his ship north bringing gifts from the Keys.

As palm fronds before a wild summer storm fly
(when the shutters are closed and the water is high),
Santa Keys cruised the northern states with his Key deer
spreading visions of warm blue seas and island cheer.

With his Key deer garbed in brilliant lights, Santa Keys prepares to depart on his mission. (Photo by Neysa Threlkeld)

At each house where the residents longed for the tropics,
he left small Keys tokens stuffed deep in their stockings.
There were conch shells and flip-flops and Key lime tidbits,
Margarita mix too — and “Buffett’s Greatest Hits.”

There were fishing reels, dive logs and lotions for sun
Conch Republic flags, stickers that read “U.S. 1,”
tiny replicas of Key West’s Southernmost Point
and shrimp sauce from a funky old Keys seafood joint.

When he dropped the last gift at the last snow-topped house,
Santa Keys told his Key deer to steer a course south.
His farewell drifted back on a sweet balmy breeze:
“Merry Christmas to all — now come visit the Keys!”

To watch an underwater video of Santa Keys, click here.

Even NBC "Today" weatherman Al Roker (left) and anchor Matt Lauer are fans of the Conch Republic. Here they display the republic's flag during a special broadcast from Key West. (Photo by Andy Newman, Florida Keys News Bureau)

So, like any intelligent population blessed with a creative mindset and lively sense of humor, some good citizens and friends of the Keys came up with an offbeat, attention-getting response: they staged the island chain’s secession from the mother country.

It was a stunningly effective solution to the problem. Following the international media hoopla generated by the gutsy action, the blockade was quietly dismantled, never to return.

The concept of the Conch Republic, however, has far outlived the incident that spawned it. While Keys citizens are technically still Americans, today Conch Republic flags and passports are common — and the secession’s anniversary is celebrated each year with a fun-filled festival.

The concept of the Conch Republic appeals to the independent, nonconformist spirit of Keys residents (and those who dream of becoming residents). And recently, one of the republic’s founding fathers discovered that it also appealed to a citizenry on the other side of the world.

Intrepid traveler Stuart Newman discovered a Conch Republic-like country in faraway New Zealand.

While he was in New Zealand representing the Florida Keys & Key West at the annual Society of American Travel Writers convention, honorary Conch Republican Stuart Newman took time off to explore the countryside. Driving along the Lost World Highway, he encountered the “Republic of Whangamomona.”

Here, in Stuart’s own words, is the tale of his remarkable discovery.

Whangamomona, NZ — Halfway around the world from the Florida Keys, residents of tiny town on New Zealand’s North Island, arguably inspired by Key West’s 1982 Conch Republic rebellion, seven years later seceded and formed the “Republic of Whangamomona.”

In 1989, dissatisfied with a series of governmental redistricting changes, the elder gurus of the community of less than 180 gathered at the pub of the local six-room hotel/restaurant — and declared Whangamomona to be an independent republic.

The republic of Whamgamomona is governed from this unassuming hotel. (Photo by Stuart Newman, Florida Keys News Bureau)

Located in New Zealand’s Manawatu-Wanganui region, Whangamomona is accessible via the Lost World Highway (NZ 43) — not exactly the caliber of the Keys’ U.S. 1, since it boasts a 90-mile stretch without a service station.

Whangamomona’s first president, Ian Kjestrup, was elected after his name was placed on the ballot without his knowledge.

Kjestrup served from 1989 through 1999 and was succeeded by Billy Gumboot, a goat (!), who won by eating the ballots of the other candidates. Gumboot served 18 months before being succeeded by a poodle named Tai, who served from 2003 to 2004 and retired following a reported assassination attempt.

The present chief of state, garage owner Murt “Murtle the Turtle” Kennard, won out over founding father Kjestrup and a cross-dresser named Miriam (sound familiar?) by a single vote. He was overwhelmingly re-elected this year.

Like the Conch Republic, Whangamomona has a population of indigenous poultry.

Today, the tiny “country” of Whangamomona is replete with Conch Republic-type passports and official T-shirts. Every other year in January (summer in New Zealand), the town celebrates Republic Day, which attracts thousands of visitors from throughout the North Island.

As Stuart discovered, clearly the citizens of Whangamomona share an irreverent mindset and good-spirited sense of fun with the denizens of the Conch Republic. Those attributes will take center stage in the Keys April 20-29, 2012, during the 30th annual Conch Republic Independence Celebration.

Why not come down for the festivities and declare your own independence?

Intrepid angler Maria Newman, left, fights her "lionfish" prey under the direction of LLGF founder Betty Bauman. (Photos by Andy Newman, Florida Keys News Bureau)

It’s called the “No-Yelling School of Fishing,” and includes instruction on how to rig baits, tie knots, gaff fish and even boat handling. One session teaches effective and comfortable ways to battle gamefish.

For several years Larry Kahn, editor of the Florida Keys’ “Keynoter” newspaper, has played the role of the gamefish target. This year, swimming in a resort pool with a fishing line tied to his belt, he portrayed an invasive lionfish.

Selected students reel, while the fish tries to swim away. The process teaches students not to allow slack line, to follow the fish as it moves in the water and, ultimately, to wear out their quarry.

That’s what happened to Larry at the hands of a savvy Miami student (and middle school teacher) named Maria Newman. Here, in detail, are her thoughts and his on the experience.

Musings From Maria, the Angler

Larry the lionfish doesn’t know there’s a hook instead of the morsel of bait. He simply thinks opportunity just knocked, and he swallows.

On the surface, I wait to feel his slightest tug. I jerk the line to set the hook, and he takes me for a big run of line.

Larry the lionfish attempts to escape the tenacious angler.

I smile and patiently let him take it. He wins this run.

Now it’s my turn. I pull my rod back and crank the reel faster and faster. I get back what I lost.

His turn. He takes a left turn and runs again — pulling, tugging, trying to survive. He thinks, “If I don’t pull harder, I’m a goner.”

All I know is, if I don’t get this fish up close to the surface, I lose. It’s him or me. Hook, line, rod, harness, fish-fighting belt … don’t fail me now!

I’ve got him now (I always assume the fish I catch are boys. Why is that?).

I’m tired. He’s tired and I can feel him struggling, trying to get free.

There he is close to me, at the surface. He’s mine.

I win! That’s my fish. That’s my Larry — my wonderful Larry the lionfish.

Reflections From Larry, “The Fish”

Sometimes the greats hang on too long.

There was Willie Mays in 1973, capping his baseball career with a sad six home runs and a .211 batting average with the Mets after a Hall of Fame career with the Giants.

An actual lionfish, unlike Larry, sports venomous spines instead of a wetsuit.

Then there was Michael Jordan, closing out his basketball career in a Washington Wizards uniform in 2002-‘03 after redefining, as a Chicago Bull, how NBA basketball is played.

And there was me, at the end of a fishing line, being reeled in so easily that a minnow would have been more challenging for the angler.

This was my fourth year depicting “The Fish” at Ladies, Let’s Go Fishing!

I had retired after three years, having portrayed an acrobatic dolphin (mahi-mahi), tenacious tuna and powerful grouper. I came back for a fourth year as a lionfish, monofilament line tied my body, to swim away from student Maria Newman — while she tried to reel me to the side of the “classroom” pool.

After the epic battle, predator and prey might have stopped at Key Largo's Fish House Encore for a tasty appetizer of ... lionfish.

But like Mays and Jordan, I was past my prime. I thought I could coast as a lionfish, a relatively small fish with little fight, and wouldn’t need much spunk. Boy, was I wrong.

I was at the end of Maria’s line for only about five minutes as LLGF founder Betty Bauman instructed other students in what Maria was doing right and wrong. There was much right … little wrong.

I kept trying to swim away, but Maria kept hauling me in.

Finally, I gave up. I exited the pool gasping for air, a shell of my former fish self, and retired. Again.

Four years as “The Fish” was a pretty good run.

Just one year too many, that’s all.

Wait, is that Betty calling again for 2012?

Want some instant decompression on your way to the Keys? Take Card Sound Road. (Photo by Andy Newman, Florida Keys News Bureau)

By the time Kathy and I head to the Keys for a respite, we REALLY need it. We’re stressed, tired and cranky. Thank goodness we’re just an hour’s drive away from relief.

Actually, we’ve discovered we’re closer to decompression than that. Once Miami and the Florida Turnpike are behind us, we hang a left just past the Last Chance Saloon — and the vacation begins.

We take less-traveled, less-direct Card Sound Road to the Keys rather than the 18-Mile Stretch of U.S. Highway 1 that often seems like it should be named the Florida Keys Speedway.

While U.S. 1 is the route of choice for people who have to get to the Keys RIGHT NOW, Card Sound Road offers a slower, laid-back and scenic route that feels like the Keys even before you get there.

Welcome to Alabama Jack's, the laid-back heart of Card Sound. (Photo by Andy Newman, Florida Keys News Bureau)

The two-lane CSR has no passing zones, so you have to travel at the prevailing speed, whether you’re behind a car towing a boat or a dump truck from the nearby quarry. But slower means you have time to look around.

There’s not a lot to see at first — sawgrass, a roadside canal, mangroves and assorted shrubs — but it’s easy on the eyes and restful.

Soon we come to what passes for civilization on the CSR — a patch of trailers and ramshackle dwellings that are home to the few denizens of Card Sound, complete with fishing nets, floats and crab traps along the road.

The social, victual and libation center of the place (the sign says “Welcome to Downtown Card Sound”) is Alabama Jack’s, an open-air bar, restaurant and honky-tonk that overhangs the mangrove-lined canal on the southern side of the road.

The Card Sound Bridge offers an unmatched view of clear water and mangrove islands. (Photo by Andy Newman, Florida Keys News Bureau)

What the joint lacks in physical charm it more than makes up for in friendly, attentive service, live music and good food.

The seafood platter, featuring real conch fritters, dolphin filet and crab cakes (all fried in a light batter) with sweet Southern coleslaw pairs well with an ice-cold bottle of Swamp Ape India Pale Ale.

After lunch, we pay the $1 toll and set off up Card Sound Bridge, which provides a panoramic view of the sound’s emerald waters dotted with countless mangrove islands.

After the bridge we enter Crocodile Lake National Wildlife Refuge, home to indigenous North American crocodiles (though we’ve never seen one there). On the left are open vistas of Atlantic Ocean, and on the right thick mangroves.

At the intersection of State Road 905 we turn right and enter a new ecosystem — a tropical hammock of gumbo limbo, mahogany and poisonwood trees, and native shrubs.

Blog author Buck toasts his Card Sound experience with an icy brew. (Photo by Kathy Banks)

The woods look impassable and are interrupted only occasionally by white-sand roads that meander off into their dim depths.

The 905 rather abruptly empties into U.S. 1 at the north end of Key Largo. While it’s an adjustment to go from a quiet two-lane to a bustling four-lane road, it’s all right — because now we’re in the Florida Keys.

Something's fishy about this jack-o'-lantern -- it's being carved underwater! (Photo by Bob Care, Florida Keys News Bureau)

It’s the home of America’s first undersea preserve, 50-year-old John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park — and to one of the largest vessels ever sunk as an artificial reef, the 510-foot Spiegel Grove.

But Key Largo can boast another oceanic claim to fame: its weird and wonderful array of lighthearted underwater events.

Planning to carve a pumpkin for Halloween this October? Do it underwater in Key Largo.

Surrounded by spectator fish and a coral reef backdrop, divers will plunge beneath the sea to transform hollowed-out pumpkins into jolly jack-o’-lanterns during the annual Underwater Pumpkin Carving Contest — set this year for Sunday, Oct. 16.

Contestants submerge to a depth of less than 30 feet with only their creative imaginations and dive knives as tools. Prizes, including a dive trip for two, await the top three pumpkin sculptors at the contest presented by Amy Slate’s Amoray Dive Resort.

Santa listens to an undersea denizen's Christmas list in the waters off Key Largo. (Photo by Bob Care, Florida Keys News Bureau)

Craving a good poker game? Experience it underwater in Key Largo, where the most popular “suits” are wetsuits. Generally in late fall, watched by goliath grouper and other marine species, costumed pirates in scuba gear play free-wheeling hands of five-card stud beneath the sea. Their wacky Underwater Pirates Poker Tournament is part of the annual Key Largo Pirates Fest.

But pirates aren’t the only costumed characters known to immerse themselves in island waters. Want to catch a glimpse of Santa Claus before he embarks on his round-the-world sleigh ride? Look for him (where else?) underwater in Key Largo.

The jolly red-garbed guy appears every year before Christmas, seeming perfectly at home in the underwater environment. Beneath his bushy white beard, he looks a little like Captain Spencer Slate of Key Largo’s Atlantis Dive Center.

It's "egg-stremely" unusual to see an Easter bunny beneath the sea ... except in the waters of the Florida Keys National Marine Sanctuary. (Photo by Bob Care, Florida Keys News Bureau)

Wearing scuba tanks and a dive mask, Santa glides over shipwrecks and reefs in Key Largo waters, offering holiday wishes to fishes as part of a fundraiser for a local children’s charity.

And let’s not forget Easter, when a long-eared bunny hides brightly colored eggs for eager egg-lovers to find — you guessed it, underwater in Key Largo. Captain Slate typically hosts the annual Underwater Easter Egg Hunt shortly before the holiday.

Donning an extra-large bunny suit and dive gear, he hides eggs (real eggs decorated with non-toxic colorings, to prevent any negative ecological impact) in a secret location on one of the Keys’ pristine shallow reefs. Egg-seeking divers hop aboard the Atlantis boat, head to the secret site, and submerge in search of the sunken hard-boiled treasure.

Unlike the above, there’s one underwater event planned for Key Largo that didn’t quite happen: a world-record bid for “extreme underwater ironing.”

Florida Keys ironing fans are ready and waiting, with their equipment prepped, for a new world-record attempt.

Yes, ironing. In 2010, event organizers hoped to draw approximately 100 divers to perform the unpopular domestic chore — ironing items simultaneously within a 10-minute time limit — at a shallow dive site in the Florida Keys National Marine Sanctuary.

They were trying to break a world record held by an 86-person group of British scuba divers (and by the way, participants had to provide their own ironing boards and irons).

Sadly, a forecast of rough seas and strong winds forced the event’s cancellation — even though many ironing fanatics wanted to “press” on.

For additional wrinkles on Key Largo’s wonderful underwater world, click here.

Upon my arrival in Key West, I was stunned to see palm trees seemingly everywhere. (Photo by Andy Newman, Florida Keys News Bureau)

Take me, for example.

When I first came to Key West, I was a naïve 20-year-old Minnesota girl in a Salvation Army fur jacket (which I discarded as quickly as possible). I flew down to this exotic and then-unknown place to meet my Minnesota boyfriend John, who had friends living on the island, to spend a couple of months thawing out after a miserable Minnesota January.

John had to take a side trip to New York, so we didn’t fly together. I emerged from a tiny plane operated by Air Sunshine (also called Air Sometimes for its erratic on-time record) into a third-world airport and a light-drenched landscape.

The taxis outside the airport were startlingly pink, and there were palm trees EVERYWHERE. I gawked out the cab window during the entire drive to John’s friend Wally’s house, where we were supposed to stay.

When the pink taxi pulled up to an old wood-frame house, I jumped out eagerly, ran up the porch steps and knocked on the screen door. “Hello?” I called.

A glorious old frame house was my first temporary "home" on the island.

The door was opened by Willie Nelson. (Okay, it wasn’t really Willie. But it could have been his dark-haired twin.)

“Hey there,” he said, his eyes slightly glazed.

“You must be Wally,” I responded brightly, trying not to stare. “I’m Carol, John’s friend from Minnesota. Is he here yet?”

Willie/Wally looked at me. “John?” he repeated. “Hey, how’s he doing? I haven’t heard from him in six months!”

Apparently John had neglected to tell Wally we were coming — OR staying with him. But since this was Key West in the late 1970s, five minutes later Wally had offered me his spare bedroom to stay in until John showed up or I figured out what I wanted to do next.

Actually, John DIDN’T show up. But that didn’t matter because, 48 hours after my arrival, I knew perfectly well what I wanted to do next: live in Key West for the rest of my life.

This classic Jimmy Buffett album cover captures the Key West waterfront in the 1970s.

The decision wasn’t reasoned, or even particularly rational. It came from my bones.

Admittedly, my new home was a fascinating place. In the late 70s and early 80s, shrimpers in white rubber boots ruled the island’s waterfront, and lobster and fish were free for the catching.

In those days, there wasn’t much money in Key West. But nobody noticed unless they went to the mainland, and people didn’t go to the mainland very often. Living was an impromptu affair and the pace was slow; Duval Street was so empty on hot summer afternoons that dogs drowsed undisturbed on the blacktop.

The Victorian houses in Old Town, the ones that stand lovingly restored today, were ramshackle and rundown, their paint peeling or absent altogether. But their clean, proud lines made them gorgeous anyway, and the hibiscus and bougainvillea blooming around them were all the adornment they needed.

Now, as in the late 70s, exuberant blossoms add a lush beauty to Key West homes.

Back then, Key West was a haven for adventurers — from treasure hunters seeking shipwrecked Spanish galleons to the spiritual descendents of Prohibition rumrunners. Everyone seemed to know they were living at the edge of a continent, in a renegade but strangely innocent world.

It was pretty heady stuff for a naïve Minnesota girl.

Fairly quickly, I was “adopted” by a group of longtime Key Westers — writers and shrimpers and pirate bartenders. Their passion for the island was enduring and true, and for some serendipitous reason they decided to share their stories and their lives with me.

Today, Key West and I have both changed a good bit, but my love for the place is stronger than ever. In essence, those old friends who opened their world to me earned an unspoken promise in return — that I would cherish that world like they did.

And you know what? It’s never been a hard promise to keep.

Is this the face of a boot thief? (Photo by Joanne Denning)

I recognize her symptoms from the time, years ago, when I moved home to Key West with my then-boyfriend Gerry after 18 months in Nashville. In fact, I still can’t look at a moving van without twitching uncontrollably.

It all began with Clyde.

Nashville, Sept. 29. We hire a mover despite his peculiar nickname (Clyde the Magic Mover), and he asks how many boxes we have. Gerry and I are not fooled. We have moved before. We do what any other experienced householders would do. We lie.

Nashville, Sept. 30. Clyde the Magic Mover and his partner, Ezell (E´-zell), arrive. Both are in their mid-50s and so strong they have enough energy to joke as they lift our 300-pound couch into their moving van, a vehicle seemingly big enough to hold Sloppy Joe’s Bar.

When all our belongings are safely stowed, we hop in our car and follow the van south.

Exuberant blossoms add a lush beauty to Key West homes ... like our beloved cottage.

Key West, Oct. 1. Arriving at our new cottage during an island rain shower, we realize our attractive tropical yard is filled with tropical mud. Unfortunately, we must cross it to get the furniture in the back door.

Undaunted, we do what Keys residents have done for generations — we improvise. We lay a large board from the moving van over the mud. Clyde and Ezell speedily unload our household goods and disappear. With their board.

Key West, Oct. 2. While I wander the Historic Seaport, glorying in being back on my island, Gerry stays home to unpack. Unfortunately, another tropical shower turns our backyard into a mud puddle again. Carrying boxes in from the car, he removes his favorite cowboy boots and leaves them outside the back door so he won’t track mud inside.

Shortly afterward, he spots a floppy-eared puppy racing past the kitchen window with something in its mouth. At first he thinks the object is a dirty rag — but then realizes it’s one of his boots! Frantically, he gives chase but can’t catch the culprit.

After returning, I quickly headed down to the Historic Seaport.

When I get home, Gerry is pacing the kitchen (barefooted) muttering to himself. The remaining boot sits on the counter.

Gerry does not handle this kind of thing well. Indignantly he relates the boot-snatching episode. I collapse into a chair, laughing uncontrollably.

Later, as we dine on Key West pink shrimp at the Hogfish Bar, Gerry says,  “I’ve heard that animals do only what they need for survival. So why did that dog need my boot? He can’t wear it!”

We fantasize briefly about a local dog pack indulging in boot worship on Dog Beach beside Louie’s Backyard. I try to finish eating my shrimp, but can’t stop laughing.

Key West, Oct. 3. Gerry starts the day in his flip-flops. He’s not amused when I hum “These Boots Are Made for Walking.”

The missing boot reappeared behind the Southernmost Point marker, delineating the southernmost spot of land in the continental U.S. (Photo by Rob O'Neal, Florida Keys News Bureau)

Outside, savoring Key West’s tangy salt air, I begin chatting with two kids trying to crack a coconut on the sidewalk. Gerry unobtrusively searches the area for a boot.

Finally one of the kids says, “Mister, are you looking for something?”

Gerry relates the whole sorry tale.

The older kid grabs Gerry’s sleeve and urges him down Whitehead Street. There, behind the Southernmost Point monument, the boy indicates a boot. It’s muddy, bedraggled, and appears to have a few bite marks.

Gerry snatches it up with a glad cry.

Key West, Oct. 4. I bike over to Fausto’s Food Palace for groceries. On the way back, I encounter a puppy that looks suspiciously like the boot thief Gerry described. He’s carrying something in his mouth … but nevertheless, he manages to give me a wide canine grin.

Couples in love can have a dolphin for their "best man" at Islamorada's Theater of the Sea. (Photo courtesy of Theater of the Sea)

In fact, in North America’s most popular dive destination, brides and grooms and their attendants can don gowns, tuxedos and scuba tanks to “take the plunge” into matrimonial adventure.

Scores of saltwater ceremonies are performed by Captain Spencer Slate of Atlantis Dive Center, a self-proclaimed “Justice of the Pisces” who has officiated at underwater weddings in the waters off Key Largo for more than 30 years. One of them even landed in the Guinness Book of World Records — and featured 110 divers, all wearing Halloween costumes!

Probably the Upper Keys’ most popular underwater nuptial niche is the nine-foot-high shrine of “Christ of the Abyss.” The 4,000-pound bronze statue stands in the Florida Keys National Marine Sanctuary, within the boundaries of Key Largo’s John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park. (FYI, Pennekamp was the first underwater preserve in the United States and recently celebrated its 50th birthday.)

The compelling statue is one of the most photographed underwater sites in the world. Its timeless features and welcoming arms, seemingly lifted in eternal benediction, make it a perfect place to exchange “I do’s.”

Tuxes, wedding gowns and discreet scuba gear are the proper attire for those diving into matrimony in the Florida Keys.

At Amy Slate’s Amoray Dive Resort, love is in the name. Yes, the resort’s moniker is a tongue-in-cheek blend of  “amore,” the Italian word for love, and “a moray” eel — one of the dive instructors’ friendly reef pets often seen on dives and during wedding ceremonies. If you’re ready to dive into matrimony, chances are you’ll fall in love with Amoray’s private charters, onboard parties and imaginative approach.

But you don’t have to be UNDER the water to have a unique water-themed wedding in the Upper Keys. At Islamorada’s Theater of the Sea, marine mammal fans can plan a ceremony with dolphins as part of the wedding party! Couples in love can reserve the park for an evening, and Theater of Sea’s trained staff will help choreograph dolphin behavior shows to their choice of wedding music.

For a real cetacean celebration, the bride can even arrive at the ceremony in a floating chariot accompanied by dolphins.

Of course, a unique marine-themed wedding deserves an equally unique honeymoon — and what better place than the world’s only underwater hotel?

Following an underwater wedding, consider honeymooning at the world's only underwater hotel -- located in Key Largo.

Located in Key Largo and called Jules’ Undersea Lodge, the fascinating honeymoon habitat has even been featured on television’s “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.” Honeymooning dive enthusiasts can spend the night there, with amenities including a gourmet meal prepared by a “mer-chef,” among the marine life of the Keys.

Imagine waking up on the first morning of your married life five fathoms beneath the sea, with vivid-colored tropical fish peering in the wide windows to share your happiness.

Want more info on wedding opportunities — underwater, offbeat or even traditional — in the romantic Florida Keys? Just say “I do” and click here.

Even NBC "Today" weatherman Al Roker (left) and anchor Matt Lauer are fans of the irreverent Conch Republic. (Photo by Andy Newman, Florida Keys News Bureau)

The wacky charity event is always a highlight of the annual Conch Republic Independence Celebration, created to mark the day the Florida Keys seceded from the United States after a 1982 U.S. Border Patrol blockade of the island chain. (FYI, the motto of the republic, which calls itself the world’s first fifth-world nation, is “We Seceded Where Others Failed.”)

Billed as “the most fun you can have in bed with your clothes on,” the bed race pits multi-person teams against each other as they pilot their beds along Duval (which, by the way, is often called the longest street in the world because it stretches from the Atlantic Ocean at one end to the Gulf of Mexico at the other).

According to bed race rules (yes, there ARE rules), each colorfully decorated bed must be mounted on wheels and either pushed or pulled by costumed team members. At least one team member must ride on the bed.

These strange bedfellows go for speed during a past year's race down Duval Street. (Photo by Rob O'Neal, Florida Keys News Bureau)

“They’re in for the ride of their lives, because they’re not steering — there are no functional steering devices allowed,” said a Bed Race veteran who insisted on remaining nameless. “This isn’t the type of event where you read the newspaper in bed, that’s for sure.”

Past years’ races have featured a bed decorated like a smoke-blowing dragon, one accompanied by a gaggle of caged drag queens, one whose team members were dressed only in g-strings and chained to the bedposts, and many others that defy description.

The 2011 Bed Race is set to begin at 2 p.m. Saturday, April 30, with a parade of beds followed by the competition itself. If you join the spectators on Duval Street for the freewheeling sporting challenge, prepare to encounter some pretty strange bedfellows (and possibly a few who are three sheets to the wind!).

Supporters of the quirky republic show their conch spirit. (Photo by Andy Newman, Florida Keys News Bureau)

While the bed race is the oldest event on the Conch Republic Independence Celebration’s schedule, it’s not necessarily the most eccentric. The festival runs April 22 through May 1 with highlights including a “drag” race for dressed-up drag queens in staggeringly high heels and the colorful so-called “world’s longest parade.”

There’s also a pirates’ ball and pig roast, a lighthearted sea battle featuring tall ships, a pet stroll for “party animals,” the Conch Crawl showcasing favorite watering holes, a sailing race that recalls the Keys’ historic shipwreck salvage tradition, and a whole lot more.

So don’t pull the covers over your head and hit the alarm clock’s snooze button. Instead, exchange your jammies for traveling garb — and head down to the Conch Republic to be part of its exuberant annual celebration.