Last
weekend, Mark had a two day board meeting out of town, which culminated
in being towed home since his car wouldn't start. He descended
from the tow truck with his backpack of overnight gear, his laptop, and
his wading boots in hand.
But while Mark was gone,
warm rains melted a lot of our snow and gushed into the creek in
frigid, muddy rivulets. The creek had risen far past the point
where wading boots would do any good. Luckily, Mark had a backup
plan --- scoot across the creek on a handy log.
For future reference,
when scooting across a raging creek on a log, it's best to carry as
little as possible. Mark knew the drill, so he paused before
embarking to toss his wading boots to the other shore. Boot
number one whizzed through the air and landed on the creekbank.
Boot number two swung aloft and --- thunk! --- hit an arching limb,
then --- splash! --- landed in the flood waters. With a last gulp
of air, the boot sank.
Now, you have to
understand that those boots are Mark's babies. He bought them
less than a month ago in an attempt to keep his feet dry through the
freeze/mud cycle. So when his boot landed in the flood, Mark went
in after it...waist deep in cold, cold water. But the boot got
away, and Mark came home dripping wet and worn out.
Ever since, Lucy and I
have been patrolling the creek on our daily
walks.
Finally, Wednesday morning, the waters cleared up enough that we could
see all the way to the bottom. And, just fifteen feet downstream,
there was our quarry! We pulled it out and brought it home,
triumphant. Lucy won three dog bones and I won a kiss. Sure
is nice to be the hero.