This morning ritual is altered by the arrival of Cuineas (Irish for quiet) my daughter’s year old puppy. A better name is dervish. The two dogs differ in all aspects. Guinness a white aging shih tzu, poodle mix abhorred the water. Cue a spaniel, Labrador mix loved nothing so much as being in the water. She stands staring into the water fishing all day. She is not for tranquil paddles around the lake or gazing at passing mergansers. Her pace is full steam ahead. If I stand and glance toward the lake she bounds by and circles the cottage three times before charging to the dock. Guinness is still doing downward dog and glancing up to see if I am seriously going to the water. A slow navigating of the bay is ruled out as Cue lunges into the canoe. I settle in the canoe reaching to assist Guinness when the dervish explodes onto the dock and leaps into the middle of the canoe toppling Guinness and me into the water. Our sneaky attempts to evade Cue as a companion by tiptoeing out early is futile. Her hearing is too sharp. The moment my feet are on the floor she is at the door. She guilt stares me into bringing her along. Something larger and more stable than the canoe is necessary. My early morning environmental sensibilities is dismissed as I need the large and stable sixteen foot bowrider. Otherwise I swim.
Fortunately for my conscience the motor hardly whispers in the tranquil dawn air. I settle both dogs at opposite ends of the bowrider and gently cruise the lake. One benefit is that we three sailors grab our preferred perch and explore much farther into the lake. This works wonderfully well. The boat cruises on silently and the dogs and I slide into an early morning reverie. Of course Cue occasionally races from the front of the boat to the back. This frenetic run rids herself of sufficient energy to allow a return to the back of the boat and to stretch out on the double seat. Guinness takes a position on the bow as his and lays himself on the plastic step resting his head on the bow. I do not realize that this position is perilous. We slide along at canoe speed embracing the tranquility of an early morning on the lake. My second error is not taking into account that this is Saturday morning and the rules change. We are not alone on the lake. Yes there are the fisherpeople silently trolling. Yes there are our lazy Loons and mergansers in the rising mist but also weekenders race to fill as much of the day as possible. My silent running cruise is not for them. They need speed and fast turns. Turning into the larger bay two large motor boats race each other while a small sea doo zigzags in front of them. Suddenly all three turn in our direction. My third mistake is not to power up and race out of their way. I am too much into early morning reverie. The three boats blast in front of me churning up the water. My boat sits calmed and is thrown into the air by the tumult of three massive waves. There is no danger to the boat being swamped as it is large and stable. But it is pushed up by the force of the waves. Little Guinness is lying on slippery plastic with no traction and as the wave hits the boat he flies into the air and all fifteen pounds of him lands in the water. I hit the motor kill switch and jump to search for him. Out of the corner of my eye a black streak soars into the air. Cue is a water dog and he jumps in to save Guinness. My heart pounds. All I can think of is my returning to shore to my wife and children explaining that I had killed the two dogs before they even had awakened. I know it’s always all about me. Seriously three daughters and a dog in peril! I sense the silence. To the port side Cue swims in a circle and in the middle is Guinness paddling his legs furiously. Standing on the water skiers’ ramp I am able to reach Guinness and to haul him into the boat. He spits and shakes but he is safe and stands in the middle of the boat glaring at me. I grab Cue and swing her into the boat next to Guinness. They both shake themselves attempting to dry off. I hug each of them, soaking myself in the process but delighted that they seem no worse for their unfortunate swim. I start the boat and steer toward home. I think of chasing the galoots who had swamped us but know they would be too dense to see how their actions affected us. The dogs forgive quickly as I pull milk bones out of my jacket. On future morning outings, the dogs wear life jackets and I keep a wary eye out for early morning racers.
Fifteen years have passed since my daughter maneuvered her dog into my life. All promises to care for her puppy passed to me within weeks. Guinness made the decision that I was to be his partner and has been steadfast in this decision. His greying whiskers match my own. He walks with a slight limp from arthritis as do I. He has bursts of energy then forgets where he is going. I know the feeling. However he has no confusion on the love that we have developed for each other. My daughter’s dog is my best friend and I love the little fellow.
