Like a hood upon my mind.

I have a dog, and have had to save him on two occasions. Both of them were while he was swimming as a young boy. The first time, last summer, he came along with me and some friends to the Elora Quarry. It was a bright day of jumping cliffs and eating snacks and sandy feet. The Grand River flows along right beside the quarry, and while dogs were not allowed in the quarry water they could wade off the heat in their fur in the light brown of the river. The Grand looked lazy that day, and so we let Pascal hop out into the stream to nip at insects in the air and to catch sticks. But in the bright sun, flecks of light were tossed out across the surface. He swam out to them, further and further, and by the time he reached their place they would be gone, and new lights reflected on more distant ripples. Though the river looked calm, its current was strong and Pascal was pushed out with it, unable to swim upstream and back to us. He was drifting far up the river, toward a dam that was some ways downstream, helpless to fight the water. When we realized this, I dove after him with his leash roped around my shoulders and swam hard into the current and across the wide river to catch him. I was already tired when I reached him, and I clasped his leash onto his collar. In his panic, he thrashed against my chest, so that when I reached the opposite shore again my skin was a red-white patchwork. I had to tow him, but the current was much too strong. We climbed out onto the bank instead, and ran a long ways up the length of the bank so that on our second try across we would be more easily carried along with the current. When we stumbled out of the water, my chest burning inside and out, and Pascal's body shaking, we went home.

The second was this past spring, at a dog park in the Kitsilano neighbourhood of Vancouver. The park was a beach that lined the Pacific Ocean, and though the air was slowly beginning to warm, the water still had the frigidity of winter. We went there in the late morning, on a day that was cool and overcast. There was a good handful of other dogs there, and in Pascal's eagerness to play with them he would chase after the balls or sticks thrown for those others. In some kind of a flash, he dashed out into the ocean and started swimming. He was first swimming towards a thrown stick that was floating out, but an older and stronger dog was able to race him for it. While this dog turned back towards the shore to meet its owner and return the stick, Pascal kept on swimming. The pale glint of sun on the laps of the water urged him out much farther than he should go, far enough that when I called him he could no longer hear me. He was lost, with no sign of shore or direction, following the reflections as they disappeared before him. I threw off my coat and shirts, getting ready to follow him out. I almost forgot to take off my boots, but then kicked them away and slung his leash around my bare shoulders in the cold air. Pascal was being carried by the ebb, and the dog park was now some distance away. I dove into the water, and my chest immediately sucked into itself so that I could not breathe. I was surrounded by cold, choking on freezing salt water. But if I did not breathe, and if I did not swim, then I would be stuck out there myself, and would not have been saved. When cold and dark make circles of your vision, the only thing to do is to force yourself to breathe and to swim. When at last I got near to Pascal I called to him. Now he heard me, and weakly thrashed towards me. I leashed him, and I could see his fear, and now I wonder if he could see mine. The cold was tiring me, and I was afraid I would not be strong enough to make it back. When we reached the shallow, I cut my feet, still in their socks, and a thin strip down my left palm. My heavy pants were sopping down my body, down my waist and feet. In my fear, or perhaps as a way to try and keep cover over it, I felt some frustration towards Pascal. He was not a very strong swimmer, and I thought he might have been aware of that in himself. But I understand and wonder at his perseverance out there in the waters and the flickering lights. These occasions set off by glints and shimmers that are gone once you reach for them. Glimmers on the surface that fold away the very moment you gaze on their fortune.