by John Jefferson
A recent column told about fishing when my Labrador nearly capsized our canoe late one December afternoon. She saw me casting and thought I had thrown something for her to retrieve. When my lure hit the water, she was assured of it and launched. Swimming into the line with a large fish on one end of it and me on the other, she snapped the line
I yelled that for costing me a big fish, she could just swim home. The boat ramp where we were taking out was a short swim away (for her). Had she faltered, I would have jumped in to save her. And that reminded me of another time she caused me to have a chilling swim to rectify something else her exuberance had caused.
It was opening day on our new deer lease. After the morning hunt, one hunter wanted to move his stand. Three of us went to help. My dog, “Choco”, went, along.
As we finished, I heard the exciting bark of a dog in full chase. A goat had wandered near and the race was on. I ran toward them yelling, “NO!” The goat made it to the lake and splashed in. Choco stopped and looked back at me like, “Did you see that? Silly animal thinks it can outswim a water dog!”
The landowner had been dubious about leasing, and we knew causing a livestock loss would be bad. A hunter volunteered to swim out after the goat. I said, “No; my dog was responsible. I’ll go.”
Shedding boots and everything except my underwear, I cautiously entered the chilly November water.
At first the goat swam farther into the lake. Its cloven hooves didn’t provide speed and I finally caught up with it as it seemed to be slipping deeper under the water. Grabbing a handful of hide behind its head, I began side stroking back to shore using lifesaving training I had received as a teenager. It was the only thing I could think to do.
My hunting buddies were literally rolling on the ground laughing at the unfolding scene. My charge was helpless by then, and put up no resistance, although avoiding its hooves was a problem.
When we got near shore, the goat got traction in the mud and wobbled out onto the bank to Choco’s delight. I ask the amused onlookers to stop laughing enough to hold Choco’s collar. I didn’t feel like doing any more goat rescuing that day. Exhausted and shivering, I sat on a log and tried to dry off.
The goat turned and looked at me, like “What the … just happened?” Then it slowly plodded away.
We didn’t tell the landowner about, but I finally wrote about it years later. She had grown to trust us, so I gave her a copy, and she thought it as funny as my laughing compatriots had.
Sadly, that was before cell phones, and nobody had pictures of my lifesaving a stupid goat.
JJ
