I’m not sure if I should paddle with my dog again.

Last summer, we were on Elevenmile Reservoir, kind of in the middle of Colorado. I don’t exactly know how, but Hudson and I managed to flip our canoe unexpectedly and we were in the middle of the lake. I managed to flip the canoe back upright and was about to get some of the water out, and get back in. Unfortunately Hudson had the same idea and, I dunno, channeled his inner sea lion or something, torpedoing his way through the air on top of the boat and creating a rotating mass. This happened four times before a good samaritan in a fishing boat picked me up. He helped me tie the canoe to his boat to tow to shore, but we lost sight of Hudson… that is until we spotted him way in the distance towards shore, maybe a hundred metres or more, lackadaisically doggie paddling his way like nothing was wrong. So we pick him up, a drowned rat, and continue our way to shore. I start getting my canoe and paddles secured on the pebbly beach and Hudson waiting patiently as I did. By some miracle my phone was still working, so I call my wife to get my bearings (she stayed on shore to protect a new tattoo, and helped me figure out I was about a mile walk away from her position). So Hudson and I start walking west. I guess I got distracted by my scuffs and feeling confused why my legs were all bloody, when I looked up and Hudson was gone. I heard little yelps, but human ones. I run barefoot (my flip flops were probably at the bottom of the lake) over the next hill to find my fucking dog just helping himself to this sweet Korean family’s picnic, his whole self on top of the picnic table. I apologized a hundred times, the fact they didn’t throw things at me tells me they were very forgiving. We made our way back to my wife, myself embarrassed and soaked, Hudson looking a little smug, almost proud.

It’s summer again and I’m unsure if he should be in the boat with me again.