Thursday, seven a.m. Joe and I were eager to take Bryn to the beach to swim- it would be empty of people this early- but frequent lightning made the idea impossible.
By early afternoon it was still raining, but my computer’s aviation weather site confirmed that the thunder and lightning-filled cells had moved well east, leaving just one whale-shaped, benign cloud perched directly over the city, dumping rain steadily, but not heavily.
A thought picked at the back of my brain. I was missing something obvious...
We made lunch. Ate. Cleaned up.
And then, the thought surfaced.
Why not swim in the rain?
Of course!
We threw on bathing suits, stuffed two towels and our new blue ‘floater’ bone into a plastic grocery bag and hopped into the car. A few minutes later we parked by the Senior Center that, along with a big hotel to its right, faced the very long, empty beach.
Sensible folks were staying inside.
Tossing our plastic-bagged stuff onto a convenient bench we ran down to the nearly calm, rain-pecked water. Bryn, however, skidded to a halt at its edge. Uh-oh. This again...
Her triumphant swimming breakthrough had happened over a week ago. There’d been no time to reinforce what she’d learned since then. Had we waited too long?
Joe and I swam out and called for her. Bryn ran along the bay’s edge, taking nervous drinks. She finally put paws in, thought better of it and bounced out again. In chest-deep water we waggled the blue bone. She sand-sat. Whined.
Joe waded to shore, picked her up and walked deep into the bay. Released, Bryn ignored the bone- and our entreaties- and swam straight back to the beach.
Deja vu.
From deep water we threw the bone much closer in to shore: she tip-toed out a few inches, str-retched her neck to grab it, then trotted thirty feet away from the lake to drop it on the sand. Sighing, Joe left the water, fetched it and swam out to deep water again.
This ‘backwards-fetching’ nonsense was ridiculous. Who was training whom?
Ding! I had a dumb, bright idea.
“Joe, move back into shallow water and throw the bone far out while I dog-paddle and watch, then yell at me to fetch it.”
He did.
I barked (nice touch, eh?) and immediately paddled out, mouth-grabbed it and swam back to deliver it.
Bryn went ballistic!
We didn’t respond to her cries of confusion and jealousy. Joe lavishly praised me. (I pseudo-snapped at him when he grinned and patted my head.)
He tossed it way out again. “Get it, Dee!”
Barking happily I did. Bryn raced up and down the beach, licking the lake, torn by indecision. She finally threw herself in and swam out toward me, yelping with indignation. So naturally, water flowed into her mouth. She hurriedly paddled back to the beach to stand on the wet sand, head down, gagging and hacking.
We ignored her.
“Again, Joe...” I whispered, sniffing the bone like a pro. He hurled.
I whirled, barked and paddled out---only to be overtaken by Bryn! (‘Arfing’ with manufactured excitement I hadn’t heard her enter the water.)
Mischievously I swam much faster human-style toward my blue prize. She glanced back (mouth firmly shut, I noticed with satisfaction), worried I’d beat her to it.
Inspired, I put on some speed, set teeth into bone and turned around to deliver it back to Joe. Bryn swam hard to catch me, determined to steal it away. Kindly deferring to the younger dog (and anxious to avoid her clawed, pumping paws) I let it float off. Triumphantly retrieving it she smoothly swam back to dump it on the beach. Then she shook herself- and didn’t gag once.
Our dog was learning the finer points of swimming.
She and I competed for that bone three more times in the rain before calling it a day. Bryn ‘won’ every time. She left the lake for the last time and roared far down the empty beach and back again, scattering gulls and kicking up sand, ecstatic.
We were ‘back in the groove.’
“Your doggy-style demonstration was devious,” Joe commented as we padded to the car, tired and happy. She couldn’t resist -and wouldn’t be bested!
I popped Bryn into the back seat and retrieved a bit of time-worn wisdom:
“Well, my man, if ya can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em!”
By early afternoon it was still raining, but my computer’s aviation weather site confirmed that the thunder and lightning-filled cells had moved well east, leaving just one whale-shaped, benign cloud perched directly over the city, dumping rain steadily, but not heavily.
A thought picked at the back of my brain. I was missing something obvious...
We made lunch. Ate. Cleaned up.
And then, the thought surfaced.
Why not swim in the rain?
Of course!
We threw on bathing suits, stuffed two towels and our new blue ‘floater’ bone into a plastic grocery bag and hopped into the car. A few minutes later we parked by the Senior Center that, along with a big hotel to its right, faced the very long, empty beach.
Sensible folks were staying inside.
Tossing our plastic-bagged stuff onto a convenient bench we ran down to the nearly calm, rain-pecked water. Bryn, however, skidded to a halt at its edge. Uh-oh. This again...
Her triumphant swimming breakthrough had happened over a week ago. There’d been no time to reinforce what she’d learned since then. Had we waited too long?
Joe and I swam out and called for her. Bryn ran along the bay’s edge, taking nervous drinks. She finally put paws in, thought better of it and bounced out again. In chest-deep water we waggled the blue bone. She sand-sat. Whined.
Joe waded to shore, picked her up and walked deep into the bay. Released, Bryn ignored the bone- and our entreaties- and swam straight back to the beach.
Deja vu.
From deep water we threw the bone much closer in to shore: she tip-toed out a few inches, str-retched her neck to grab it, then trotted thirty feet away from the lake to drop it on the sand. Sighing, Joe left the water, fetched it and swam out to deep water again.
This ‘backwards-fetching’ nonsense was ridiculous. Who was training whom?
Ding! I had a dumb, bright idea.
“Joe, move back into shallow water and throw the bone far out while I dog-paddle and watch, then yell at me to fetch it.”
He did.
I barked (nice touch, eh?) and immediately paddled out, mouth-grabbed it and swam back to deliver it.
Bryn went ballistic!
We didn’t respond to her cries of confusion and jealousy. Joe lavishly praised me. (I pseudo-snapped at him when he grinned and patted my head.)
He tossed it way out again. “Get it, Dee!”
Barking happily I did. Bryn raced up and down the beach, licking the lake, torn by indecision. She finally threw herself in and swam out toward me, yelping with indignation. So naturally, water flowed into her mouth. She hurriedly paddled back to the beach to stand on the wet sand, head down, gagging and hacking.
We ignored her.
“Again, Joe...” I whispered, sniffing the bone like a pro. He hurled.
I whirled, barked and paddled out---only to be overtaken by Bryn! (‘Arfing’ with manufactured excitement I hadn’t heard her enter the water.)
Mischievously I swam much faster human-style toward my blue prize. She glanced back (mouth firmly shut, I noticed with satisfaction), worried I’d beat her to it.
Inspired, I put on some speed, set teeth into bone and turned around to deliver it back to Joe. Bryn swam hard to catch me, determined to steal it away. Kindly deferring to the younger dog (and anxious to avoid her clawed, pumping paws) I let it float off. Triumphantly retrieving it she smoothly swam back to dump it on the beach. Then she shook herself- and didn’t gag once.
Our dog was learning the finer points of swimming.
She and I competed for that bone three more times in the rain before calling it a day. Bryn ‘won’ every time. She left the lake for the last time and roared far down the empty beach and back again, scattering gulls and kicking up sand, ecstatic.
We were ‘back in the groove.’
“Your doggy-style demonstration was devious,” Joe commented as we padded to the car, tired and happy. She couldn’t resist -and wouldn’t be bested!
I popped Bryn into the back seat and retrieved a bit of time-worn wisdom:
“Well, my man, if ya can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em!”