Once Upon a Time
Which recalls to
mind another time in that same place.
For a town in the middle of Wyoming, bounded by mountains on all sides,
with a canyon running out in one direction where the Big Horn River becomes the
Wind, Thermopolis has one very lovely river running through. Especially in the areas far enough from the
Hot Springs not to be littered with sulfur foam. Because its more or less in the middle of
nowhere, the water is still reasonably pristine and fishing is a common sport,
though both banks in the Canyon are First Nation’s land, so one must be careful
where one fishes or partakes in water sports.
Nonetheless, a
favourite summer pastime, remembered fondly even by me, who generally has to be
dragged out of the house by my hair, was canoeing. We would take the canoes down to the mouth of
the canyon having first parked another car at the point where we planned to
stop[1].
From there we’d set out, following the
course of the river through sights I can barely remember now, but am
increasingly nostalgic for. Maybe
someday when Laurel has children we can all go back there and repeat the
journeys.
What writing this
has called to mind is our dog Ebony. The
sweet, dachapoo with the low IQ and total failure to understand that poodles
were originally bred as water dogs. The
Germans would send them into lakes and ponds after game.[2] I was elsewhere when the first incident
happened, but while Ebony loved to canoe, loved to go anywhere with anyone of
us at any time really, evidently on her first trip she leapt with abandon into
the river[3],
and while a perfectly capable swimmer, promptly freaked out at its resemblance
to a cold bath and had to be rescued.
There was another
time I recall when we got out to eat lunch[4]
and after about five minutes heard her barking frantically. When she’d jumped out of the canoe, she’d
come out about three feet from where she could easily climb to shore and while
perfectly capable of swimming those three feet, wouldn’t stop clinging to the
side of the canoe to make it to shore.
However, the most
memorable moment was the time we were out with our very close family friends
from Colorado, who have the distinct characteristic of being quite tall. “Big” Jon tops 6’ 5” and Little Jon is not
far behind. One day the eight of us plus
Ebony were out when, while maneuvering between bridge pylons, one canoe
capsized. At 5’ 8”, the water wasn’t quite up to my chest, so there was no
actual danger. It was very wet.
Ebony disproved
all my comments about her intelligence by promptly swimming over to Big Jon and
climbing up to the top of his head, thus rapidly achieving the highest and
safest point. As many of the canoe trips
have devolved into pouring rain and other things that left us soaking wet, this
event, as part of the general fun and games for my high school graduation was
just par for the course and has become part of our family lore.
However, it
deserves noting here ‘cause it’s also wicked funny.
[1] Although there were days
when this didn’t work out as planned.
But fortunately it’s a very
small town and no one ever made me
walk to get the car.
[2]
I can’t remember where
I saw or read it so am utterly failing in my duty to cite, but evidently the
goofy haircut for which poodles are famous was to keep their joints and organs
warm whilst diving into cold German waters after fallen birds.
[3]
To chase some cows on
the riverbank if I recall correctly.
[4]
As fate would have it,
disturbingly down wind from the last resting place of a riverbank cow.
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