I have never felt the urge to take my dog, Molly, fishing with me and, after this afternoon, I’m pretty sure I won’t feel the urge again for a good, long while.
You see, I was feeling a little guilty for not spending a whole lot of time with my loveable mutt these past couple of months. I’ve been busy with work, busy with 4-H and basically, too busy being busy!
So, with another day of vacation ahead of me, and an absolutely gorgeous day to be outside, I just had to go fishing.
The car was loaded with my tackle box, fishing rods and a niece and nephew before I climbed in and took one look outside the front window of my little blue car.
There, at the front of the garage stood Miss Molly. Her tail was wagging, her tongue was hanging out and she had tears streaming down her face. (Well, alright, maybe not that last part, but she looked like a rather sad pooch with those big, brown, pleading eyes.)
Who can say “no” to a face like that?
I stepped out of the car, opened the back door and, before I could say, “Let’s go, Molly,” she had jumped up on the back seat and sat down next to niece Katie. In appreciation for the car ride, she snuck up and hit my cheek with her cold nose before the car was even out of the driveway.
Our destination was a small pond, set back in a wildlife area where I knew Molly would have plenty of space to enjoy an afternoon outing. She’s been there before, but usually we just stop down in the bunny park for her to run and, well, chase bunnies.
As we walked toward the pond, Molly leaped like a deer through the tall grass one second, and had her nose to the ground the next. She’s rather entertaining to watch … but not so entertaining when it came to me wanting to fish.
I barely had my line in the water and my chair unfolded before I realized Molly’s first attempt at being a fishing buddy wasn’t going to go well.
She had found a garter snake.
I hate (fear) snakes … all snakes!
Molly knows this, and kills them for me. (Well, at least that’s my interpretation of the “gifts” she leaves all around the farm yard.)
Snake No. 1 faced a quick death a good distance down the path from where I fished.
Snake No. 2 … and this was when I screamed the loudest … was played with like a whip by my Molly. With instant visions of her losing her death grip on the snake and it flinging through the air and landing anywhere within 10 feet of me, I screamed for her to get away from me … and then I screamed at nephew Zach to handle the situation. He’s a boy, and boys ought to be able to take care of snakes (Well, except my Uncle Eldy and cousin Chad, with whom I share my snake phobia!)
Snake No. 3 was actually left behind by Molly to twist and turn in the grass. As I was moving to a different fishing spot, I caught a glimpse of it, screamed really loud and – again – yelled at Zach to take care of the situation.
As if Molly’s snake encounters weren’t bad enough, something apparently caught her eye at the corner of the pond and she took a mad dash for it – right along the shore line. She snapped Dad’s line, caused a fish to jump straight out of the water and got herself completely wet in the process.
Molly went home … with Dad … in the truck.