Picture it: Rural Alberta, the year 2002, only me, my husband, our cat, our dog, and the quiets of nature for an entire week. After a grueling two full years of college, no money, unemployment, a terrible back injury, we needed time to regroup, think, and relax. However, without any money, resources, or way to do that, how could we even dream of going camping (our favourite activity) or taking any kind of vacation? We could not.

Enter my father and his sneaky ways! He had access to a camp. One we’d all been to as a family several times and enjoyed all the activities together. Canoeing, archery, hiking. It had many things to do, all at no cost to us! We simply had to leave the camp as clean (if not cleaner) than we found it. Gas and food would be our only expense. There were several small museums and historic sites within a short drive that we could take in, if we so desired, or we could just stay within the compound and R.E.L.A.X. for the entire week.

The compound had a bunkhouse, complete with running water and hot shower room, TV, fireplace, and large living room. The secondary building was a cookhouse, with a large dining hall and an immense kitchen. While it did have ‘running water’, it wasn’t potable, so we had to bring drinking water. If that was our biggest issue, it was no different than when we went camping, we always brought our own drinking water anyway.

We packed up our Grand Cherokee, partially sedated our cat (she was a terrible traveler who yowled on car trips, which she did anyway, even partially sedated – note, we didn’t bother for the return trip) and set out on the nearly two-hour drive to the lake. Arriving with all our sanity intact, my husband unlocked the gate and we set to unpacking. I leashed the cat and wandered the grounds as he hauled our gear into the respective buildings.

The weather was perfect for August. Not too hot, a gentle breeze blowing. The cat was happy to chase bugs and pounce the grass. Her leash training had come in handy as I could tie her up and know she’d happily explore her territory and be safe. Our dog, whose recall could be suspect, would be safe as the grounds were fenced and he didn’t usually stray too far afield anyway. Watching the two of them play was relaxing, I felt my tension melting away!

Soon my husband joined me, beer in hand, and we set up our lawn chairs and watched the lake roll to shore, listened to birds, and chit-chatted the afternoon away. Life was good.

Tsarina, our cat, and Max, our dog, were very much like our kids. Both born in 1999, they were rival siblings at times and often, very best friends. Max went everywhere with us, and Tsarina stayed home, as cats often do. Max was very well trained, having more certificates than most college graduates. Fly ball, agility, obedience. He’d done it all. When we’d decided to take him to a local museum, they realized they had no policy on dogs and so they let him go through with us. He did amazing! Well behaved, didn’t bark, even when the guide rubbed a fur in his face and said, “What do you think of this doggy!”

Tsarina (our Bengal) and Max (our Schnauzer) – the animals & stars of this memory

We had fallen into a great routine of sleep, eat, nap, relax, eat, drink, walk the pets. Sometimes we did day trips, sometimes we just watched the world go by. One activity we had not done was take a canoe out for a paddle. My husband built a cedar strip canoe many years ago and was an avid canoer, I knew he was anxious, but how to do this with a wife with a bad back, and a 50-pound dog, we weren’t sure.

Contrary to what most believe, not all dogs can swim. When we first took Max to the lake back in 2000, we showed up with a life jacket, and as one would think, we got teased. “But dogs can swim!” everyone told us. We weren’t sure! So we bought him a neon green life jacket. He’d outgrown it, so he came this time, with a new life jacket. Once we got the canoe down to the lakeshore, we got him in it, put on our own life jackets and set about getting in. I got in first, then we put Max in, and my husband pushed the lot of us out into the lake and off we went.

It was a glorious paddle. The lake was quiet, the loons were out, the lake was still. Bonnie Lake isn’t a big lake and at the time we picked, there were not many boats out. We rounded a bend and off in the distance, the large public beach and small quasi-marina. Mostly, it was a dock with a few boats moored to it. As we drew closer, I noticed a dog on the dock… He was barking.

My husband paddled us a bit closer, nothing too serious, but Max turned his head and saw the dog. He pulled quickly from my grasp and lunged to the other side of the canoe! Up on the gunnels, back to one side, then the other. Enough to throw us off balance. I tried to counterbalance, but I was too late. I felt us tipping… Tipping… Tipping..

OVERBOARD!

The canoe tipped over in a flash and into the drink all three of us went! It happened so quickly. I was underwater. Where was I? Under the canoe? No… I paddled up and broke the surface. We had a plan!

If we tipped, I got the dog. My husband righted the canoe!

WE HAD A PLAN!

My husband forgot the plan.

The canoe drifted, drifted away because my husband was rescuing the dog… Because Max was ‘swimming’ out to the middle of the lake. Evidently, his sense of direction was all wrong and in a moment of panic, he didn’t know where to go. My husband turned him around. Max promptly dog paddled in a circle and started back out into the middle of the lake, again! The next correction saw him scramble up onto my husband’s chest and there he stayed.

So now what? How am I going to correct and right the canoe? Especially when I realized my pants were falling down. This predated cell phones, so there was no rescuing of devices, though my husband did have to rescue his Zippo lighter, his Tilley hat, and the misguided dog.

But not the canoe.

Or the paddles, which were now floating away, in two different directions.

But what did I hear! Someone calling from shore – the owners of the little dog that sent Max hopping side to side. “Just swim to shore, we’ll come get the canoe!” the woman called, as her husband jumped to action, hopping into their boat, and starting the motor. We swam to shore, Max fixed permanently to my husband’s chest, our green canoe being towed to the dock.

Max never ventured into more than elbow deep after this excursion. He liked to splash a little, but he was definitely not a water dog. My husband still thinks I was the cause of us going over, maintaining my attempt to balance us caused the tip. Whatever the case, he didn’t follow the plan and we learned not all dogs can swim!