Small Dog Takes A Swim

My boy has a small dog:

His name is Small Dog.
Boy and Small Dog were playing by the pond one day, throwin’ some sticks. Tra la la la…stick, stick, stick.

Boy: MAMA?!?! Where’s Small Dog???
Me: Um…I don’t know. Is he in your pocket?
Boy: No. (pause) Mama, he’s swimming!
Me: Uh-oh. Were you holding Small Dog in your hand at the same time you were throwing sticks???
(no answer)

Small Dog was indeed swimming. A little further out in the pond than could be reached.

Time to call in…the Papa-Creature.
Without hesitation, he takes off his pants and steps into the frigid water. He’s got a hoe…to aid in fishing out Small Dog, who is “swimming” at least three feet deep, a bit too far out from the edge. This pond has not been dredged anytime in the recent (and perhaps even distant) past. Papa-Creature plunges the hoe in the general direction of Small Dog, sending up a cloud of silt in the water. If Small is not on the hoe, then he is buried, lost forever to the muck. The hoe is pulled slowly, gingerly to the surface, and proudly astride it is Small Dog himself. Hooray! But,…what’s this? Oh yeah…who-knows-how-many layers of silt. Papa-Creature is stuck in the muck up to his knees! He is sunk, he is sinking! Now it is my turn to come to the rescue. I grab the hoe and set Small Dog carefully in the grass, brace myself, and manage to help pull the Papa-Creature out of the water without falling in myself. I am a hero! (Well, we all know who the real hero is, but at least I got to take part in a Daring Rescue). The Papa-Creature has now become Cold-Naked-Man, and runs off to get a towel.
I say to the Boy, “Let’s put Small Dog in your pocket,” and we go off to collect more sticks.

Oh, and here’s some yarn:

Seaweed Salad


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