I came back from town around noon and met Farmer H in the Gator on the road in front of his freight container field. With him were The Veteran, and two of his little girls. Ranging out in front was my sweet, sweet Juno, and running alongside was Puppy Jack.
Perhaps running is too strong a word. Farmer H does not drive a fast Gator. Puppy Jack, short-legged though he may be, was barely trotting, and had no trouble keeping up. Juno had to rein it in, her long legs aching to race like the wind.
While I was blocking my half of the road, and Farmer H his, Puppy Jack grew bored. He walked in front of the Gator, looked up at Farmer H, looked over at me, then crawled under the front end, by the right front tire, for a nap in the shade.
"Don't run over Jack! He's under the Gator!"
"I won't run over Jack. He'll get out when I start it up again."
"Just out for a Saturday drive?"
"We're going up to the other land."
"Look out for Jack!"
"I will. He'll be going swimming." With that, Farmer H fired up his engine, Puppy Jack ran out from under, Juno darted ahead barking, and off they went.
Upon his return, Farmer H reported that Juno waded into the creek, Jack ran in and started swimming, and The Veteran's littlest girl (around 6) followed them.
"Don't go in the water! Stay away from the creek!" And in she went. Where she slipped and fell on her butt. Kids. What are ya gonna do?
Jack was all dried out by the time I went out this evening to feed him an old hot dog. Who knew that dachshunds or heelers liked to swim so much?