Dakota and I walked along the shore of Lake Michigan on a summer afternoon in Door County. Dakota loves the water, so I let her wade in.
My father texted.
“It’s time to come back for dinner.”
I called Dakota to come, but she wasn’t ready to leave. Usually, Dakota wears a harness for exactly this reason. But this was an impromptu stop, and her harness was at the house.
She backed up, turned so I couldn’t pull her in, and slipped out of her collar. She raced out into the lake.
She was never in any danger. The water was shallow enough for her to stand even several yards from shore. And she ignored every command to come back.
This was not the first time we had this problem. I tried the only thing that had worked before. I walked back to the car.
The first time this happened, the car was about half a mile away. I walked back, put all of my expensive electronics in the trunk—things I couldn’t take into the water or leave unattended—and headed back to the water. About halfway there, Dakota came bounding up the trail looking for me. I hooked up her leash and we went home.
The car was much closer in Door County, but it was out of Dakota’s sight. I walked away.
She was unbothered.
I hopped in the car and backed it up to the water’s edge where Dakota would see it. I got out and called her. She loves rides, but not more than swimming.
She just stared at me.
I got in and started to drive—farther and farther—watching her get smaller in the rearview mirror, waiting for the moment she decided she didn’t want to be left behind.
It never came.
I backed the car up to the water and did the only thing I could.
Wait.
Dakota played and splashed.
Eventually, a woman came by headed for the Cana Island Lighthouse. Getting to the lighthouse involved crossing the water where Dakota was playing.
Dakota came over to greet her, and the woman grabbed her by the scruff of the neck—there’s a lot of scruff to grab with Dakota’s thick coat—until I came to retrieve her.
Dakota is almost always well-behaved, but the wild child is still in there—especially around water. She loses any sense of obedience.
Years earlier, Alex called me on a summer afternoon. She was preparing to start vet school in Gainesville.
“We found a house to rent,” she said excitedly. “It has four bedrooms and an in-law suite where you and Mom can stay.”
We knew by that time that Alex’s cancer was back, and she would be undergoing treatment while attending school. Her mother and I were prepared to spend time there for support.
“And it has a pool,” she continued.
“Does the pool have a fence around it?” I asked.
“No,” she replied in that tone daughters give their parents when they think they’ve just been asked the silliest question in the world.
“Good luck with that,” I replied.
Here’s a look at how that went.
Every time.
And Dakota is a long-haired German Shepherd. Her coat is extra thick—it takes several hours to dry.
Alex’s room had a patio door leading to the backyard. She had to put a tie-out outside of the door so Dakota could access the yard but not the pool.
It brings me great joy to watch my dogs do what they love—running, playing or, in Dakota’s case, swimming. But safety comes first. Because of her tendency to forget her obedience training in water, and the increasing presence of blue-green algae (cyanobacteria) in local waters, we don’t play in the lakes and streams anymore. But, for her 10th birthday, we got Dakota a membership at the local canine swim club, where she and Maximus can swim to their hearts’ content.
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Mitch,
Your dog stories are very enjoyable to read. I have seen the Queen D in action. It is very fun to watch first sure