On February 2 of 2008, we went tent camping with our new fur baby. There, she enjoyed a feast of fall leaves and goose shit, jumped into an almost ice-cold lake, and fell asleep in my lap around our campfire as she tried to get warm and dry. We were probably the only ones camping that weekend, so we had the park to ourselves, so she spent a lot of time off-leash. Still too young to wander off on her own, she enjoyed the freedom to explore and play, but stayed pretty close to us.
I remember letting her explore on the dock, and took pictures of her as she did so, believing there was no way she’d jump into the water. When she went for it, I did what all new mothers do when their little one does something unexpected and potentially dangerous; I lost my mind. I panicked, thinking that surely, she couldn’t swim! She’s too young! I need to jump into the lake after her, February weather be damned! The Captain told me to walk calmly off the dock and to the shore instead, that she would come to me. I honestly can’t remember what I did. Did I walk to shore, or did I reach into the water and pull her up? The photos from that day would suggest I pulled her up, since she’s sitting, soaked, in the middle of the dock, rather than the shore. Who knows? It’s still a funny story that Captain and I love to remember.
We made delicious foil packs of buttery veggies and smoked sausage on the fire, and the sunset that night was just incredible. I’m so glad we braved the chill to do it.