“There’s nothing––absolutely nothing––half so much worth doing as messing about in boats.”

― Kenneth Grahame, The Wind In The Willows

The dog so unsure of this wobbly contraption surrounded by water.  Gingerly after lots of coaxing she hopped in with her tail between her legs.  As John pushed off from the dock, he took the oars and guided us out to the fish stocked lake.  We traded seats, me taking the oars and John setting the lines in the water.  Slowly I dipped the oars into the lake, finding my rhythm, learning the song of the water.  We had hardly gone a bit when the pole bent. Springing into action, John swiftly jerked the line and I scrambled for my camera.  The oars were stowed, the dog frantic, John reeling in the line. 

"The charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable, a perpetual series of occasions for hope."  -John Buchan

An unexpected surprise, dinner.  I hadn't planned on it.  Actually I betted against having fish.  Who actually catches their dinner expect maybe my mother who is a fishing expert.  John strung the fish onto his stringer and slipped it back into the water casting out his pole again.  The dog had other ideas.  She couldn't get the thought out of her head that there was this wiggling thing following the boat.  Sitting at the stern she hung her head over the water whining.  It didn't' take her long to realize that all she needed to do was pull the stringer in and the fish would be back in the boat where she could smear her neck with the scales and bite the wiggling squirming slippery toy. She was sure we had caught it just for her and by keeping it in the water we had developed a new bit of torture for her.  We continued to troll, me on the oars, John manning the pole, the dog losing what marbles she had. We stopped at the island letting the dog try her paw at swimming.  It wasn't her thing.  It wasn't solid and the bottom wasn't where she thought it should be.  

Then towards the east side of the lake, we dropped the dog off so she could spend a bit on land, while we rowed.  As we slipped down the bank 10 feet or so and the dog was busy sniffy, a strike on our line had us scrambling once more.  

"I think I fish, in part, because it's an anti-social, bohemian business that, when gone about properly, puts you forever outside the mainstream culture without actually landing you in an institution." -John Gierach

Another fish on our stringer and the dog eagerly made it back into the boat just to be tormented by not one but two fish trailing in the water. It was nearing time for lunch and I could tell by the "rumbly in my tummy" and the fish on the stringer were on the menu.