Eight years ago today, I adopted Amos. He’s been my best friend since, and, evidently, I have not stopped torturing him in the same ways.
Just a week after his adoption, I dragged him up a ravine at Southbend Park in Atlanta. I was craving some aquatic ecology and exploration, and he was already so attached that he followed willingly… well, that’s an overstatement; he was less than pleased, but felt no choice. He whined and cried about getting wet and trekking through boulders, but he moved forward and we had a grand time.
Today, we repeated our experience. As we explored a trail, we crossed an old friend–a fountain he’d previously fell in after being tricked by the thick duckweed. Hot, dusty, and thirsty, he immediately recognized the water below today, but was trepid—it could be any depth and the water’s surface was nearly a foot from the top of the fountain’s wall. I convinced him to let me help in, where he briefly cooled off and had a few licks of water.
He forgot about his previous experiences (with this fountain and with all things water and I). His confidence was built. It wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t so deep. And, boy, did it feel nice. Maybe he could jump in quickly on his own.
The depth of the fountain is not uniform, and, I am a cruel, cruel, person.
Thanks for being my dog, Amos.
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