Aquatics

But he flew over the boat knocking it flat, and somersaulted across the lawn to the hedges up next the house, in black three-quarter bathing trunk bottoms.

I was raised by a dog - a Springer Spaniel called Freckles, but she died at age fourteen so I was given a Boxer - ears clipped and tail chopped, buff colored and endlessly entertaining.

The squirrels would drive her mad claw-hung on a tree trunk just two feet above, as high as she could jump - straight-up about five feet. Sqautch sqautch sqautch they would Squirrel sound harass her as she like a pogo stick, boinged up and down, up and down, but could not reach ever a one.

She was a mad water dog and once caught a spawning carp by the tail and pulled it ashore on the beach. She would dip her head-underwater turning over-rocks looking for crabs. Climbed thirty feet up a tree once after a Squirrel. She loved the boat and I always took her with me when I went out for a buzz about.

Summer Sundays were a good day for out-boarding with my sixteen foot fiberglass open face - steering wheel cross-beamed at the rear seat, the red sweaty gas can just behind I loving the smell of leaded ethyl gasoline.

I liked to follow big teak wood in-boards with auto engines that made wake waves as high a three feet and I would jump them and nose dip into the crevice curl - spray fanning over the top of us - me and the Boxer in front. She would scramble to stay upright as the boat pitched and heaved and sometimes I would ride the top of a wave on the boats side, so close to tip-over.

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