Joe and I have had a plan in place for weeks- to take eighteen-month-old Bryn to the beach daily to accustom her to the idea of swimming. Bryn loves the peculiar feeling of bounding through sugary beach sand, and she’s been happy to fetch sticks—but has always become anxious past knee-deep water.
She’s developed quite an eye for just how far out too far is. If we’re a little over-enthusiastic in our tosses she’ll estimate the distance at a glance, find it wanting, and assume an anchor-like stand on the sand. There might be dragons under there. I need firm footing. Sorry, Boss.
And that’s been that.
Yet, she allows Joe to carry her deep into the bay to lower her gently into glass-calm water. As always, she’ll simply turn toward shore and swim smoothly back. Her head remains dry. She’s not upset, just resigned to our inability to understand ‘not keen.’
Last Sunday, though, we witnessed a shocking sea change.
It was well past seven o’clock and warm; yet the local beach was empty of people until a yearling chow, followed by her owner, ambled onto the sand and right to the edge of the water to watch Bryn determinedly swimming back to shore. The new dog pranced along the waterline, barking.
“I’ve tried your carry-out technique over and over,” sighed the woman, “but young Cassie is not impressed. She swims to shore immediately and tries to avoid going out again. It’s really disappointing, as I love doing laps, and playing in the water, and I’ve hoped that she’d like it, too. Her parents love to swim.”
We shared our own dashed hopes as the orange sun put a test beam into the flat, opaque water. It would be dark in a minute. Joe wanted to take her out one more time, but Bryn and Cassie were romping and wrestling on the beach, so we three just watched them play as we chatted.
“Does Cassie like to fetch?” Joe tossed a rather large stick down the beach, which Cassie ignored. Bryn, though, raced to it, grabbed one end and ran around in circles trying to raise the other end, which dragged. She loves big sticks.
Chuckling, we gathered up our towels and sandals. Joe flung the big stick well into the bay. Distance didn’t matter; we were leaving.
Bryn followed its path as it sailed over the water to splash down far, far away. She ran up and down the beach, seeing it bob gently out there in the gathering gloom. Cassie barked, urging her to keep wrestling, but Bryn ignored her.
Then she did an odd thing. Stopping abruptly ten feet from water’s edge, she sat in the sand and stared out at that vast ocean of water.
She wanted that huge stick.
She knew how to get it.
Before we could grasp what was happening Bryn waded into the water and launched, paddling easily, moving farther and farther away, swimming, swimming---
We watched openmouthed, unmoving, not daring to speak.
Finally, jaws clamped firmly around her prize, she turned back, soaking up the loud screams, claps and cheers from her thrilled peanut gallery. Her paws finally touched bottom. She dragged the big stick onto the sand and shook herself vigorously. Eyes sparkling, she gave one declarative, triumphant ‘Woof!’ and looked down at the stick, then at Joe.
WHAT?
Laughing, a stunned Joe threw it back out there, where it all but disappeared in the gathering gloom. Again, with no hesitation Bryn waded in, shifted into ‘all ahead full,’ and retrieved it to even more vigorous cheers and claps.
It was almost too much to take in. I stood on the shore, hopping up and down, blown away.
“Let’s stop on this high note,” Joe said, still clapping. Bryn shook herself over and over, then dashed down the beach and back at top speed, spraying sand in all directions, mutely mad with pleasure, while Cassie followed on shorter legs, barking.
What had triggered this decision? Our assurances that swimming is safe? Our persistence? Her burgeoning self-confidence?
All of the above, I think.
Cassie’s owner was delighted, musing that her persistence just might pay off eventually!
We traded high-fives and staggered to the car in darkness, grins lighting the way. What a marvelous turnaround!
Bryn, dripping sand and water, leaned her wet head against the car’s back seat and closed her tired eyes to savor window-wind. She felt lighter, having shed considerable doubt and fear.
Hah! Any water-dragons are squirrel-sized!
She’s developed quite an eye for just how far out too far is. If we’re a little over-enthusiastic in our tosses she’ll estimate the distance at a glance, find it wanting, and assume an anchor-like stand on the sand. There might be dragons under there. I need firm footing. Sorry, Boss.
And that’s been that.
Yet, she allows Joe to carry her deep into the bay to lower her gently into glass-calm water. As always, she’ll simply turn toward shore and swim smoothly back. Her head remains dry. She’s not upset, just resigned to our inability to understand ‘not keen.’
Last Sunday, though, we witnessed a shocking sea change.
It was well past seven o’clock and warm; yet the local beach was empty of people until a yearling chow, followed by her owner, ambled onto the sand and right to the edge of the water to watch Bryn determinedly swimming back to shore. The new dog pranced along the waterline, barking.
“I’ve tried your carry-out technique over and over,” sighed the woman, “but young Cassie is not impressed. She swims to shore immediately and tries to avoid going out again. It’s really disappointing, as I love doing laps, and playing in the water, and I’ve hoped that she’d like it, too. Her parents love to swim.”
We shared our own dashed hopes as the orange sun put a test beam into the flat, opaque water. It would be dark in a minute. Joe wanted to take her out one more time, but Bryn and Cassie were romping and wrestling on the beach, so we three just watched them play as we chatted.
“Does Cassie like to fetch?” Joe tossed a rather large stick down the beach, which Cassie ignored. Bryn, though, raced to it, grabbed one end and ran around in circles trying to raise the other end, which dragged. She loves big sticks.
Chuckling, we gathered up our towels and sandals. Joe flung the big stick well into the bay. Distance didn’t matter; we were leaving.
Bryn followed its path as it sailed over the water to splash down far, far away. She ran up and down the beach, seeing it bob gently out there in the gathering gloom. Cassie barked, urging her to keep wrestling, but Bryn ignored her.
Then she did an odd thing. Stopping abruptly ten feet from water’s edge, she sat in the sand and stared out at that vast ocean of water.
She wanted that huge stick.
She knew how to get it.
Before we could grasp what was happening Bryn waded into the water and launched, paddling easily, moving farther and farther away, swimming, swimming---
We watched openmouthed, unmoving, not daring to speak.
Finally, jaws clamped firmly around her prize, she turned back, soaking up the loud screams, claps and cheers from her thrilled peanut gallery. Her paws finally touched bottom. She dragged the big stick onto the sand and shook herself vigorously. Eyes sparkling, she gave one declarative, triumphant ‘Woof!’ and looked down at the stick, then at Joe.
WHAT?
Laughing, a stunned Joe threw it back out there, where it all but disappeared in the gathering gloom. Again, with no hesitation Bryn waded in, shifted into ‘all ahead full,’ and retrieved it to even more vigorous cheers and claps.
It was almost too much to take in. I stood on the shore, hopping up and down, blown away.
“Let’s stop on this high note,” Joe said, still clapping. Bryn shook herself over and over, then dashed down the beach and back at top speed, spraying sand in all directions, mutely mad with pleasure, while Cassie followed on shorter legs, barking.
What had triggered this decision? Our assurances that swimming is safe? Our persistence? Her burgeoning self-confidence?
All of the above, I think.
Cassie’s owner was delighted, musing that her persistence just might pay off eventually!
We traded high-fives and staggered to the car in darkness, grins lighting the way. What a marvelous turnaround!
Bryn, dripping sand and water, leaned her wet head against the car’s back seat and closed her tired eyes to savor window-wind. She felt lighter, having shed considerable doubt and fear.
Hah! Any water-dragons are squirrel-sized!