The Lake

That. Bloody. Lake.

This post could also be renamed to "Why We Don't Walk Mollie Around That One Side of the Park."

Triumph is a wet dog.

Mollie, as you may have gathered by now, is a bit of a wiley one. She knows exactly what she needs to do to run circles around us, get what she wants, and doesn't mind looking ridiculous in the process. In fact, I'm pretty sure that's all part of the gameplan in the first place. All we can do in response is incorporate a "fool me once" type of plan, which works well enough. It's just the learning process which falls flat on its face most of the time.

Never forget.

ANYHOW. I've told many tales about the parks where we walk the dogs. There's the smaller one that's closer, which is awesome, but has a road right beside it. That's usually fine; my dad takes them twice a day out there. It's great. But whenever I accompany him and we're in the mood, we go to the bigger park just at the other end of the street.

In Mollie's head. it's WONDERFUL, with the exception of the cows that are sometimes there. It has big rolling hills, loads of rabbits to chase, and lots of trees and bushes and fields that just unfold in front of your eyes.

And the lake at the bottom.

"The what now?"

So, one sunny day, me and my long-suffering-pop decided to take the dogs out to the big park because why the hell not? We have time, and the dogs love it. We leash 'em up, I take Mollie and he takes Bingo (aka the Siberian Husky with floppy ears), and we set on our way, talking and laughing and enjoying the sunshine. As soon as we've crossed the road safely, Mollie is allowed off leash. As I've said before, she's a dream off the leash. She'll run and frolic, not be too far away, zip here and zip there. All the while she'll respond to your calls. It's actually a lovely sight to see her so happy. Poor Bingo has to be kept on the leash, but he's still pretty happy to be sniffing everywhere that a dog could ever want to sniff.

So, it's a pretty standard afternoon walk. I've had many of them, just the same, nothing really worth blogging about. But *this* one, we got too adventurous. We dared too hard. We tossed the doggy dice, and we wagered too much. We ventured towards the lake.

Distant memories returning...

Now, anyone with a field dog, or really, let's face it, any dog at all, will know about the power water has over dogs. Doesn't matter where they are, what they're doing, if there's a body of water nearby, it may as well be filled with rotisserie chickens and covered in marrowbone jelly. Dogs want IN.

Well, apart from that one time...

As we start approaching the lake area, suddenly Bingo is pulling like a Malamute on the tug-o-war team, and Mollie is streaking off. Mollie streaking off usually means:
a) She has spotted a rabbit
b) She has one of your possessions
c) There is a body of water nearby

Whatever it is, it's going to end in a way that will be terrible, and yet blog-worthy. This time was no different.

So, at this point, I've suddenly clocked what a hideous mistake it was to take the dogs down to this point of the park. My dad is heading steadily towards the water, cursing and grunting at Bingo to cease and desist, while Mollie, rather elegantly, has flung herself in a energetic swan-dive straight into the lake. It almost happened in slow-motion. The people around the lake, picnicers and walkers alike have all turned to see just what hooligan is responsible for this, and there we are, in all our pantomime glory, waving, shouting and hooting (yes hooting) at Mollie to get the hell out of the lake and get back to us.

"Sorry, can't hear you!"

 Oh, but there's no appeal in that when there are ducks in the lake! She glides like a furry submarine towards them, tail held aloft above the water like a triumphant springer banner proclaiming her victory over the water. Speeding towards the ducks however, she found that, shockingly (shockingly!) the ducks were able to easily outswim her.

We could only watch helplessly, as she turned in every direction in pursuit of every duck she could see. They regarded her with a sort of indifference, not even fear. If I wasn't so frazzled at my dog being in the middle of a public lake, I would have felt a bit sorry for her pride, but I was too busy acting like a frenzied yeti on the side trying to get her back.

After she had tried to bother pretty much every duck in that bloody lake, she finally gave in to coercion and lolloped out, still triumphant that she had managed to escape us and get a quick dip in. My dad had finally managed to control Bingo, who had almost given my dad a tour around the lake himself.

I shook my head as Mollie shook herself dry all over me, and decided that I had been foolish, yet again, at the hands (paws) of this little mastermind of a trolldog. She had simply seen an opportunity and taken it. We, as usual, only had ourselves to blame for Mollie's little joyswim.

Not even sorry.

We hastily turned the other direction and walked back up to the suddenly appealing fields from which we had came from, away from the ruffled feathers around the lake.

You should've seen the smile that dog was beaming out all the way home. Give her an inch, she'll take a mile!

Til next time, fellow trolldog owners!

"I shall return, my sweet love"