polar plunge

So I'm doing what I do; walking in the windy winter cold along the frozen banks of the Mississippi river, dog running alongside, High Life in hand. With the sun nearly down, I decide it a good idea to skip a few stones on the water. After finding a few rocks not frozen or covered in snow, I throw one, two, three before the dog decides the excitement is too great and runs off the ice shelf in the direction of the last splash. Now he hasn't been in the water since the fall season, mind you, and when he does it's not a drop off descent. When he goes off the ice shelf, it's all at once, face first with back feet up in the air before he's submerged. Shit. He's up, you can tell he's a bit surprised at the whole thing. I tell him to come back - his front paws are propped up on the ice, but it's too deep for his back legs to reach the river bottom. Shit. I look up and down the river; no one in site. Shit. I do the lay-down-flat-and-crawl-out-to-him maneuver before reaching my hand under the water and grabbing his harness to pull him up in one swift motion, all the while waiting to splash in myself if the ice sheet were to break. So we're both out of the water - he's twisting himself dry over and over before running around like nothing happened. Fucking dog. Fifteen minutes later his entire outer shell of fur is covered ice, though he's showing no signs of being cold.

I was going to have people over tonight for beer and food, but forgot to send an invite. Rollin made it, though that was a pure coincidence.


That's all I got for now.