Sadie is from Tennessee. She knows nothing about the potential dangers of New England winter. In her doggie brain the words snow, cold and yippee are synonymous. I grew up in Southern California so pretty much all of my knowledge about the potential danger of ponds and ice comes from the frozen pond scene in the movie “It’s A Wonderful Life” which I’ve seen maybe 50 times.
This is Flax Pond, a 10 minute drive from home. It’s on our rotating list of places to take Sadie for a walk. It’s been covered with ice for the last several weeks and Sadie had strolled out on the hard surface a couple times recently, 5 or 10 ft or so. So of course, with the image of Jimmy Stewart’s little brother falling through the ice flashing before my eyes and fear in my heart, I YELLED at her both times to come back… NOW! NOW SADIE NOW!
Well last Sunday we were off to Flax Pond again for another morning walk. “Morning,” that’s 11am for me. Sadie was whimpering in anticipation as we pulled into the small parking lot. We walked leisurely a hundred yards down the dirt access road to where the access road meets a trail to the pond. As we approached the pond I stopped to chat with a guy walking his dog and took my eyes off my girl. Moments later he glanced over my shoulder and told me there was a dog on the ice. I looked around and Sadie was strolling blissfully about 30 feet from the shore. In terror I ran to the ponds edge and yelled at her to “COME!” She looked at me quizzically. I could feel her response “Why? It’s beautiful out here and the cold white ground stuff feels good on my feet.” Frantically I yelled again, “COME!…..NOW!” Reluctantly she took a couple steps toward me and then a circle of ice collapsed beneath her. She struggled, trying to get out, but her front feet slipped on the ice and she couldn’t get any traction! After a moment she stopped struggling, her rear half in the water, her front legs splayed out on the ice as she stared at me with a look that said, “Well I would, but I can’t.” Fear exploding through my head I think “Call fire department!.. No, that will take way too much time! I have to go out there!….No, we could BOTH die!” Sadie is looking helplessly at me. Seconds are passing… tick, tick, tick. “OK, I’m going, OK.. leave clothes on, save time, some insulation, remove gloves, remove hat, remove glasses, phone, wallet, put them all in hat, throw hat on ground.” I turn back towards the pond. There’s a little bit of broken ice at one spot on the edge and I step into the icy water. Another step in the water and I put my foot carefully onto the ice. It breaks under my boot. “Good. Maybe I can just walk through the ice breaking it as I go, only get my legs wet, less chance of hypothermia.” This works for a couple steps and then the ice stops breaking under my feet. I try stomping on it. Not a hint of yielding. Seconds tick..tick..tick.. I swivel around, looking for something to break the ice. A three foot branch about 3 inches thick on the beach. I go to retrieve it. Tick.. tick.. tick.. I swing the branch and bash the ice as hard as I can several times. It’s like hitting concrete. “Maybe it’s thick enough to hold my weight.” I step onto the ice, take a step, slip and fall, breaking through the ice. Now I’m floundering in about 2 feet of water and ice, soaked and trying to get on my feet. Tick..tick..tick.. I get on my feet and slowly ease my wet body horizontally onto the ice and carefully crawl on my belly towards Sadie Tick..tick..tick.. We’re face to face. “I can’t get out!” her soft brown eyes say. I tell her quietly “Sadie, good dog. I got you, you’re OK.” Tick.. tick.. She weighs about 85 pounds and pulling her out and onto the ice is not an option. “I have to go in. How deep is the water here? 3 feet? 4 feet? I might be able to lift her out. I won’t be able to get myself out if it’s more than 4 feet deep. We’ll both freeze and we’ll drown!!” Tick.. tick.. “My longest appendage, yes, put one leg in to test the depth.” I carefully pivot about 90 degrees and slowly lower one leg into the water looking for bottom. I find it at about 3 ft. I slide backwards, lower myself into the water, bend down and wrap my arms around Sadie just in front of her rear legs and lift them up onto the ice. She shakes the water off and takes a few steps, turns around and, invigorated by the cold water, happily looks at me standing in the hole. But she’s not out of danger yet. She could break through the ice again and if she chooses to explore further away from the shore and falls into deeper water I won’t be able to rescue her. If she breaks through again on the way to the shore I’ve got a shot. Swinging my arm and pointing towards the shore I yell urgently, “SADIE! GO! GO! SADIE GO!!” She gets it and starts walking towards the shore. I carefully pull myself onto the ice and start the journey back on my belly. A few moments later I look up and see Sadie, blissfully buzzing with energy from her freezing cold bath, frolicking madly in circles around another mutt about her size. And now two small Boston Terriers are arriving. About 6 ft from the shore I see that they’ve noticed me and are walking towards me on the ice. I see their human through the trees strolling towards the beach. I yell at them several times to go back. One of them turns around and walks back to the beach. The other, wearing a snappy knitted forest green sweater is now about two feet away from me. He just stands there watching me with curiosity. I yell at him again “GO!” He doesn’t move. I look directly into his cute little black eyes, trying to look fierce, and say, “I’m a bit busy and the last thing I need is another dog in the water.” His tail wags. The ice breaks beneath me! I’m in the water again! As I’m floundering and trying to get on my feet he walks over the ice to me, all cozy in his groovy little sweater with a friendly “Hi, what’s up?” look. And then he falls into the water! Sitting in two feet of melted ice I gently pick him up, carefully put his little feet on the ice, look again directly into his eyes, 12 inches away from mine, point towards the shore and slowly say, “BE A GOOD FUCKING DOG AND GO FUCKING THAT WAY.” He doesn’t move and continues to look at me, his tail wagging. I have a way with dogs but not always in a useful way. Anyway with the weight of my soaked winter clothing I lose my balance and fall backward into the water, again! A few more moments trying to get my footing on the slippery bottom and I’m up on my feet and shortly on the beach. By now my little buddy in the green sweater is playing with Sadie. I grab my hat, gloves, wallet and phone, pronounce the party over and Sadie and I march as quickly as I can up the very long dirt access road to the parking lot. I’m still in crisis concentration, soaked in freezing weather, knowing I won’t be safe until we get home. At the car I quickly pull Sadie’s blanket off of the rear seat and throw it over the drivers seat so I won’t fill the seat with pond water. Sadie hops happily into the back seat. She’s wired and thinks that was an exceptionally great walk. I, however, have no feeling in my finger tips. I pull out of the parking lot and, carefully watching for pedestrians, other cars and police officers, I drive home observing the spirit of the law (don’t hurt anybody or be blatantly rude) but not the letter of the law, (stop signs, speed limit). I don’t have the time to explain to a small town cop the logic of giving myself a pass on the rules so I can get out of my ice water soaked clothing as quickly as possible.
Mayrvo is sitting by the sliding glass back door when I come in. I tell her I need help. I ask her to dry Sadie. “Of course” she says. Alarm spreads across her face as she realizes I’m soaked head to toe. “What happened?” “Flax Pond, Sadie and I fell through ice, all good, taking shower, tell story later,” I say as I’m struggling to get my shoes and clothes off as quickly as possible and throwing them on the waterproof tiled kitchen floor. Satisfied, she takes our blissed out dog onto the back porch to dry her while I finish my struggle to get my clothes off. About an hour later the feeling in my finger tips has almost fully returned.
I can still feel the terror of those minutes. I keep seeing Sadie 30 ft away in the ice with her front legs splayed out in front of her, not moving and staring into my eyes, waiting for me, trusting that I will come and rescue her. It was one of the most intimate moments of my life. What a miraculous thing love is.
Now, after a week of reflection, I’m realizing that I should have called 911 before I entered the pond. It would have only taken seconds. I also could have asked the guy who was watching to call 911. I didn’t know how deep the water was below Sadie. Any number of things could have gone horribly wrong. I could have lost my girl. I could have lost my life. I was lucky.
And finally, I’m no hero! I’m just an old man who has an unwritten contract with a dog. We feed her, pay her bills, take her on a good walk three times a day, share the couch with her, bend down and caress her about two thirds of the times we walk past her in the house, and we say good morning and good night to her every day. In addition we protect her from the hazards of our world, streets, cars, etc., and the instincts that thousands of years of domestication have edited out of her, like skunks are NOT cats, cats are NOT squirrels, and coyotes do NOT want to play with her. In return she gives us unflinching devotion, makes us laugh, makes us exercise, and constantly reminds us that nothing is more real or more important than love and the present moment. We signed up. That’s the sacred deal we made. Love rules!