“Ok, now you’re just being ridiculous.” I picked him up and plopped him into the kayak. He strained to climb out. “Knock it off!” He climbed over the side. I pushed him back in. “Get your furry black cockapoo butt back in there! Good Lord, dog! Give it a rest!”
He stared at me reproachfully.
I shoved the kayak into the water.
Dog overboard.
It was clear he was not a good fit in my kayak, Clementine, which was a river going kayak, all bumps and no place for a dog to sit comfortably. So we put him into my husband’s ocean going kayak, M2379L. And shoved it into the water.
Zack the black cockapoo considered his options, stood briefly, and then sat down morosely.
I did not plan to abuse him. I really did not. Last year he was the Dog Masthead, standing at the helm, or stern, or whatever, tail wagging, giving what for to the lily pads as we sailed through them majestically. I could have practically carved him as a figurehead, a sort of dog mermaid. For a cockapoo, anyway, he almost looked dignified.
Well. Almost.
But this year I have to stuff him onto my kayak and he’s turned into colloidal dog mass, spreading his limbs in different directions simultaneously. He’s a dog amoeba, spreading his body passive aggressively.
He weighed 42 tons and had 45 limbs.
He looked sorrowfully in my face and wonders what he’s done to merit the Kayak of Death.
I was pitied by the mother of a whiny toddler.
That’s just sad.
When we got out into the water Zack sat morosely, as only a depressed dog can, hanging his chin on the side of the kayak, sighing deeply, puffing out his cocker beard. “Pffft,” he said, rolling his eyes at Michael.
“Yeah, yeah,” he replied. “Never again, ok? We’ll leave you home next time.”
“Pfft.”
“Fine.”
“Pfffffft.”
“Whatever, dude.”
Zack settled in at one point and cast me a long look of resentment over his shoulder. The sun was hot on his black fur but he refused all offers of water. Splashing water on his fur earned me a dark look.
When we returned to shore, he commiserated with a half-dingo, half German shepherd rescue dog over the evils of mankind and then he retreated to the blanket to sulk. I was surprised that he had made friends with that rather scary looking dog so quickly. They’d given each other a quick sniff and an obligatory tail wag and seemed mutually satisfied with each other.
Then, when Zack was settled on the blanket, the unleashed dingo approached Mike and the kayak for another sniff.
Zack stood up. “ROWR!!” he barked. “Grrr….ROWR RUFF ROWRRRR!!”
“Good Lord, Zack! That’s the dog you just sniffed! Lighten up!” I said.
But he would have none of it. It was one thing for HIM to get within biting range of the off leash monstrosity. It was something else to allow his master to go near him. It. Whatever.
Zack barked. He growled and carried on with every fiber of the cocker spaniel and poodle and the last vestige of wolf lurking down within that dog-designed-by-a-committee deep within him.
Kindle, the dingo/German Shepherd-really-not-such-a-bad-dog-huge-beast, glanced at our overwrought cockapoo, and wandered off to his own blanket.
“Whatevs,” Kindle seemed to say. “Dude, switch to decaf. It’s a beautiful day.”
A good day to die, Z dog…. I’ll go get the kayak.
