Water Dog

I just took a walk with Lily in the blazing sun knowing we would both end up swimming in the cold reservoir. I tell people I'm half Labrador; I love people, food, and water. On most days I get vicarious pleasure watching my dog-daughter swim. Today due to the heat and humidity I knew I would have to join her even if it meant walking home soaking wet. Our first hydration stop was at Precious Blood Cemetery where there's a spigot available in the summer for people to water their gravesite gardenias. I pulled out my red cloth bowl from my maroon and black knapsack to give Lily water. Then we visited a spot on the reservoir a few blocks away where Lily sat in the water for a few minutes to cool off. We continued to walk down the road.

Three pre-schoolers were in the empty street with their mom, each weighed down with a plastic grocery bag armed with about six small colorful water balloons. They began chucking the water balloons at each other. Though the kids weren't able to reach each other, the balloons made a satisfying burst on the pavement. I think we should play this game with world leaders!

I walked to the end of the road and took the dirt path to the secret swim spot. Lily leaped right in! I quickly untied my sneakers and peeled off my white socks and jumped in wearing my clothes; my black T-shirt and green denim shorts. The water was nice and cold! I threw a stick for Lily. It was so waterlogged it sank, but she sunk her whole head to fetch it! I wonder if she'll be one of those dogs that fetches rocks in the ocean. I've always been amazed by dogs who can do that; they can't possibly follow a scent under water. Can they hear the rock hitting the ocean floor, or detect it like dolphins with sonar, or do they just grab any rock knowing their masters probably won't know the difference? Lily somehow found the stick and brought it back.

I swam out. Lily kept hunting for better sticks for me to throw out for her. She tried to tear at branches from bushes along the water's edge, but those sticks were still alive and wouldn't break off. She hauled some very large four-inch diameter sticks, small logs, out of the pond, but they were too huge to break and too rotted to float. Then she decided to fetch me out of the water! She swam toward me, her polar-bear claws accidentally scraping my legs. As her front legs pumped at me like a boxer, I held her off by putting my hand on her chest, just like in the cartoons.

Finally we both swam to shore and she raced out and found a few sticks up on the hill that were dry and sturdy, perfect for fetching. We played fetch for a while more, then I leashed Lily and we headed home. We didn't mind walking home soaking wet, it kept us cool in the blazing sun.