The Shallow End

I'm Just Here for the Dogs

When I first started up this blog, I made mention of earlier life-saving episodes wherein others un-selfishly stuck their necks out for me, so I think it is only fair that I be called upon once in awhile to give back. Yesterday was one of those days. After taking care of a few "housekeeping" chores (sitting in the overly air conditioned Panera with my husband where we started out with breakfast and finished up with lunch, using the "free" wifi to check out sailboat slips in the Pacific Northwest), we decided a short trip to the lake (10 minutes from our house) would be a fun way to spend the rest of the afternoon. It's not what I would call a "beautiful" lake, but it's fun for those with boats, jet-skis, and other flotsam to keep one entertained or at least afloat in the cool water. We each took a chair, a towel and some reading material for a little warmth and relaxation (better than doing yard work in the 95 degree heat anyway).


So there we sat, minding our own business, randomly watching various groups of kids playing in the "surf" (small kids, small kids in diapers and underwear, kids that should probably not be swimming in murky, muddy bottom lakes without life jackets on, especially when mom and dad appear to be preoccupied with setting ablaze the world's largest pile of charcoal while squirting it with lighter fluid...an act that in itself qualifies one for a Darwin Award...and let me just say that when you are sitting downwind from this particular ozone violation, the fumes are noxious...wood, people, wood...and kindling...cut it out with the lighter fluid already!). So there we sat, me reading a book on grit, gore and God, my husband reading about our next sailing destination, and each with one eye on the kids who needed watching.

And then it happened. The soccer ball rolled into the water and running right behind was the little dog that could, a little mix of what looked like dachsund and rat terrier...the kind of dog that is so ugly, it's cute. Squeaks of glee came from the little kids as they pointed at the doggie going after the ball. And Dad, up on the hill tending to his blaze, shouted to the only teenager in the group to grab the dog (I assume this is what he said...it was in Spanish and he seemed to get her attention for a minute but then she responded with something I could not understand and went back to playing with her hair). I watched for a minute or two as it seemed the dog was beginning to figure out that he needed to circle the ball if he wanted to get it back to shore, and I thought everything would be okay. But the waves kept pushing the ball further from shore. And of course, the dog was on it. He was not going to let the ball go! So I stood up and told my husband that if they weren't going to do something, I was going in. I called to the girl, asking her how far she planned to let the dog swim out into the lake. She responded that it was too deep for her to swim after him. I looked again at Dad, fully clothed, still up on the hill, ignoring the situation and decided to jump in. By this time, the dog was a good distance offshore and I worried he would get tired and cramp up, or look back at the shore and panic. So the long story short is I jumped in and swam what felt like a long distance across the lake, grabbed the dog and began swimming back to shore with one arm, the other arm holding a squiggling slippery dog (at least he didn't try to wrap all four legs around me, causing the rescue operation to turn into a bigger fiasco). For awhile, I tried keeping the ball in front of him, like a strange game of water polo, but I quickly ran out of energy for that and let the ball go...off to the lily pads at the far end of the lake. For those of you who wish to try this at home, just know that it's harder than it looks. ;-)

Oh, and by the time I got back to shore, Dad was in the water, still fully clothed and reaching out for his little dog, saying "gracias, Senorita." So I guess he did care afterall. Sheesh.

At least this time I was wearing a swimsuit. The last time I had to rescue a dog (my mom's dog tried walking across a creek that began swiftly carrying her out to sea), I was wearing overalls. Thems are hard for swimmin. Just sayin. ;-)

Labels: Near-Death Experiences, The Animals

posted by Gwynne @ 1:09 PM