Dog Fishing

by dmoney⁽²⁾

One of my favorite hobbies in the refreshing months of spring is to fish down at a local river near my parent’s house. Usually I will be accompanied by my brother or a couple friends, and whether or not we catch anything, its always a fun time. Recently on a break from my college classes, I drove back to Potsdam, this time with my dog, Liam, and my good pal, Russel.

After greeting my parents and watching some cartoons, I felt it was time to venture down to the river to see if any fish were gonna bite. So I dug out my old tackle box, two rods, and some earthworms from the compost pile. We walked along the railroad tracks for about a mile until I found the trail that would lead us to the small rocky bank where we could sufficiently cast. For months, I had been dreaming of the serene afternoons I would spend fishing at the river. Serenity would soon be interrupted by the aquatically muffled fish screams of terror.

I walked Liam up and down the rocky shore. I let him smell the air and eventually he left his biological signature in the tall, sparse grass. With worms hooked, Russ and I each cast our lines into the placid river. The moment that the surface tension of the water was broken by our collective weights and lures, Liam too cast himself from a large bolder. He thrashed and paddled wildly, which undoubtedly drove fish away from our bait. He also managed to tangle his collar and tags with both of our fishing lines. I was waiting for the yelp that would signal he went for the worm, but to my delight Liam returned to shore where we released him from the intricacies of the snagged line.

Both Russ and I had hoped that this first mishap would be naturally corrected with the seemingly high canine intellect of my 3-year-old dog. To our delight, Liam would simply watch us fish from a shallow depth near the shore. The afternoon was actually turning out like I had hoped. We busted out the PB&J sandwiches, the IBC root beer, and of course a robust joint that Russ had rolled while I baited the hooks. While the three of us finished our sandwiches and admired the surroundings, a large fish splashed about 20 feet from where we sat. All six of our ears perked up and our collective leisurely posture quickly evolved into a serious crouch.

There it was again, another larger splash, and another. These fish were either begging to be caught or luring us into an ambush of catfish stings and deadly pike bites. We took the bait. I ran to the fishing rods and threw one to Russ as if it were an assault rifle in time of war. We loaded our hooks and cast with battle-time fury. Before we could strike the water with our night crawlers, Liam bounded from a granite dock and jumped what looked to me like 10 feet out into the river. Although I could not actually see the expressions of the fish, I can only assume that they were horrified. Liam paddled furiously into the area in which the fish had been splashing. He then dove beneath the surface of the water like an eagle hunting its prey. I had never seen Liam completely submerge himself under water before, and I was a bit worried. Liam immediately came back to the surface for air. I was hoping there would be a fish in his mouth, but nonetheless I was glad to see him return in good health. The fish had won this battle, but I will be back again in a month or so with Liam, and maybe a boat to finish the job.

Article submitted Thursday, April 28, 2005 & read 476 times.

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