But I couldn't go fishing, not with him. The last trip was a disaster that left him hunkering apologies and me frustrated for the rest of the day. This morning, his face looked at me so expectantly. Me too?
I melted like his beloved butter.
Ok. Yes, you too, Banjo....you too.
So I decided to do some lake and pond fishing. The creek-escapade was a disaster because I was moving around too much. He would do better with lakes. At least, that is what I hoped as I took off with a loaded car and excited dog --- towards a lake.
At the lake his nose was in wonderland. Well, in wonderland that is, before he got it stuck on my fly. His eyes were bright with taking in the geese and pelicans and great blue heron who scared the pee out of him. The pee, quite literally. His tail collected tackle (I found upon returning home.) He stood on my line. He cowered as I hauled over his head. Yes, Banjo, you are in the way.
He moved. He settled. He sat back and enjoyed the view. And I like to think he was enjoying just being with me. He seemed as excited as I was that I was catching fish, and came down to the water's edge, each time, to see and to congratulate. All the while with the ulterior motive of smell -- and I wonder, is smell species specific? I've been told that farm pond bass smell addictively divine. I've been told, "don't start" -- Don't Huff Bass.
Ignoring good advice, I did. And now, Banjo has huffed 'em too.
There is no stopping us now -- and who knows, maybe someday we'll conquer creeks.....