NKI - Fishing with Dogs, Chapter 4

Things have changed dramatically where I live since the start of the pandemic.  We've been "discovered" and invaded, mostly by people with more cash than sense.  That's a grump for another day and it only relates to this because the aliens have filled up just about every square foot of the parks where the dogs and I usually go to frolic.

This morning, for the first time this year, the wind died down - maybe because it was raining?  The ocean is still too churned-up for a solo jaunt, so, without a kayak, we went to one of the nearby rivers.

I've been casting in the yard hoping to get the dogs to understand the fly is not a toy and they needn't swim out to retrieve it.  It seems to be working, but like all yard-casts, everything is different when there's water involved.

A few years ago, when they were mere pups, the first time I took them fishing with me, on my second cast, Parker leaped in to save the fly.  I got it out of his reach before he could get to it but then he seemed to lose track of where the shore was and started swimming in circles, and after trying - and failing - to convince him land was over here, where I was standing, I had to wade in to rescue the little guy.  In chest-deep 40-degree water.

Since then, the other two times they came with me, they both decided if I couldn't catch a fish, they could, so they jumped in to show me how it's done.  BAH!  Every fish for miles around headed for a quieter spot to enjoy their breakfast... but at least they'd both figured out where the shoreline was.  "If we swim towards that old guy over there, eventually our feet will touch the bottom."

They did better this morning.  They dipped their toes in the river then stood around being fine fishing companions.  For fifty seconds.  Then Connor, who's addicted to chasing after sticks, started bringing me sticks of all kinds and shapes to see if, maybe, this one was good enough for me to throw in the river so he could swim after it.  Ten minutes later, he'd grabbed every stick for hundreds of yards up- and down-stream and I was standing in quite an impressive pile of wood.

That's when I gave up, grabbed the first stick my hand touched, and flung it for him.  They were both ecstatic, and I'd like to believe the trout were pretty darned happy that the dogs had convinced me to stop chasing after fish.

Seventeen casts and that was it for me, but I'm calling it a roaring success.  I made more than two casts before the dogs screwed everything up.

After an hour of flinging sticks, all three of us were a bit tuckered out so we headed home, and the whole trip I kept telling them "Pepper could'a done this without blinking her eye.  Do you want a Labrador to be a better fishing companion than you guys?"  They were not at all concerned.  They didn't even wake up.   

Great story as usual Tinker.  Thanks for sharing.

Maybe you should arragange a meet up with Rogerdodger and Pepper, something might rub off.

Good exercise for everyone

Great story as usual Tinker.  Thanks for sharing.

Maybe you should arragange a meet up with Rogerdodger and Pepper, something might rub off.

If I were Roger, I'd worry about what rubs off onto whom.

Great story as usual Tinker.  Thanks for sharing.

Maybe you should arragange a meet up with Rogerdodger and Pepper, something might rub off.

Pepper would be like "what are you idiots doing going in the water?  Don't you know the entire goal of life is to stay out of the water?".  lol

Pepper would be like "what are you idiots doing going in the water?  Don't you know the entire goal of life is to stay out of the water?".  lol

Without a doubt.