Uncle Richard had an old leather hat that covered his mostly bald dome from dawn till dusk every day. He had this little ritual that he loved to perform with the dogs and that hat. He’d drive those dogs crazy by hiding a few dog treats inside the band of the hat. He’d tug on the hat and give a little whistle and those mutts would start jumping all over trying to get to those dog biscuits. He would finally pull off the cap with a flourish and flip the cookies in the air and the dogs would be wolfing them down in a matter of seconds, catching them before they hit the ground. It was truly amazing to see those fat, boxers leaping straight up in the air as if they had some kind of doggie flubber on their paws. It was the only exercise they seemed to get, but they would do anything for a treat.
My relationship with the boxer twins was not as amicable. We tolerated each other and carefully watched out of the corner of our eyes whenever we passed. I believed that they resented my presence every summer and were quite happy to see the back of my head each August. They nipped at me and jumped out from corners in ambush whenever the odd chance presented itself. I retaliated by mixing my aunt’s Morelish with a hint of tobasco sauce on their food when I had a chance. We eventually agreed to an uneasy truce.
Our last summer together had been going much as the previous seven or eight had. Uncle Richard puttering in the basement with his ice cream maker and Aunt Sieglinde humming in the kitchen over a pot of some new and odiferous concoction. It was a Thursday night in August and we were all going out for a bass fishing trip in the family skiff. The boat was loaded to the oarlocks with our gear, my aunt, uncle, myself and the dogs. We pushed off the dock and were soon rowing around the lake.
We hadn’t had much luck with the fish and it looked like we were going to pack it in for the night. The only bites were from the mosquitoes and the mood in the boat was one of strained civility. I decided that I would make one last grand, bass tempting cast for the night. I’ll never forget that cast for the rest of my life. I hauled back with both hands on my rod and let fly with all my might with a cast that a professional Gulf Coast fisherman might make. In his prime. My line was a mile behind the boat before it began its majestic flight forward. This would be epic. As it moved lazily, through the soft, summer dusk, unforeseen tragedy ensued. Uncle Richard decided to stand up at that very second to blow his nose into his red hankie. The next few moments are frozen in my mind like a slow motion spaghetti western as the bandits are caught in the crossfire from the posse. My uncle’s hat was caught by the descending hook, it flew off his head and as it gathered speed it became disengaged from the hook and catapulted into the sunset like a flying saucer. Fasolt and Fafner mistakenly took the sound of my uncle’s nose blowing for a whistle. Hungry buggers that they were, they were out of that boat like a couple greyhounds after the rabbit, or at least that hat. I saw the hat hit the water and begin to sink off in the distance. It was about this time that the dogs appeared to realize that they could not swim. Their greed still overcame their fear and they were following that hat to the bottom of the lake.
This all happened in just a matter of seconds. As soon as Uncle Richard realized what was happening, he tried to row the boat over to where the dogs were valiantly trying to avoid their fate. Aunt Sieglinde was moaning or singing a sea shanty, as she labored to pull up the anchor so we could make headway. Sitting in the middle between them, I was no help. It also turned out that my cast had somehow hooked a fish. I couldn’t decide if I should try to reel in the fish or go after the dogs. At this point, my uncle in a fit of Teutonic rage, grabbed my rod and threw it into the lake. Now there was no sign of the dogs and we were faced with open water and the night turning darker. We finally got underway and headed for the shore. Anger seemed to give my uncle super human, rowing ability. We docked and I had to help Aunt Siegi to the house as she seemed to be in some kind of walking coma.
Between spits of rage, my uncle informed me that I’d better go to bed since I would be leaving on the first bus in the morning. Considering the situation, I was happy to be leaving with no physical injuries inflicted on me. Somehow I was still alive. I felt that I shouldn’t inquire about returning next summer at this time.
The next morning, Aunt Siegi had recovered to some extent. She made me a modest breakfast and helped me get my things together. She said that my uncle might forgive me at some distant point in the future, but I would be best served to forget about making any farewell remarks to him right now.
As I stood out in the road by the gas station, waiting for the bus, I heard some rustling in the bushes behind me. I turned to see two, fat water rats emerge from the woods and head down the road as fast as their stubby little legs could carry them. With thoughts of breakfast and homecoming, they never gave me even a sideways glance. It was Fasolt and Fafner back from the dead. I guess they figured out that they could swim. I would have liked to witness the homecoming of the faithful companions to their lord and master, but I knew that my time here was over. I did not want to spoil the jubilant reunion. I sensed that this was a watershed moment in my life, a new chapter would be beginning for me. These carefree summer days would no longer be mine. I was eventually forgiven by my uncle and even invited back, but I had other fish to fry. The next summer I had a job and had discovered girls. I was never to return to the lake of my youth, but I sometime imagine seeing my aunt and uncle tramping through the woods with the dogs jumping at their side, picking morels and eating ice cream.
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