My erstwhile dachsy companion has a quiet obsession - quiet, that is, until his nostrils (or ears) detect anything remotely affiliated with the presence of creatures fowl: specifically of the duck variety. Not remaining vigilant on this score often had unfortunate consequences - for me.

One such 'unfortunate' consequence' occurred in the following manner:
The three of us (Charli-girl, my other pooch, was also in tow) had embarked on our daily constitutional - and, as was my style, my pets disembarked (interesting word) - leash-free - and thereby illegally, from the car, in the bituminised bit near the creek.

I'd not even had the time to shut the doors, let alone lock them, before my two had disappeared - zoomed off - to my sluggish mind, inexplicably, and flippin' gone, like guided missiles, though with less of the streamlined intent, for, even though I'd called their names, on the off-chance they'd not gone too far, I could soon hear them doing a term I'd often read and now understand: crashing through the undergrowth, though not, from the sound of it, anywhere near my side of the creek and Charli's woofs, of unadulterated joy, were becoming quickly more muffled.
'Christ!' Where the hell have they gone!' I couldn't readily follow - too much vegetation - or cross the water-way - too wide - so was forced to walk in the opposite direction from the echoing sounds of 2 excited hounds on an uninhibited rampage, to a small bridge. Once across I had no option but to stand and strain my ears. Deafening silence for what seemed ages, though probably not much more than a minute - and waaaay in the distance I could just discern the odd 'wuff' - this again, from Charli. (Stump's barks were far more strident being higher pitched and - let's face it - hysterical.) In addition, Stumpy became sigularly focussed whever ducks were involved went into SAS mode: nothing must come between him and his target - so it didn't!
'Bloody hell!' I thought. They've gone into the re-generation zone. This area was the pride and joy of the local high-school, being, as it was, in the heart of a 'green and proud of it' town and an integral part of their environmentally-conscious psyche. And my two were presently gallumphing their destructive way through a fragile eco-system, carefully tended and nurtured by conscientious students and protected by an electric fence - which hadn't deterred my two idiots at all! And why should it? The fence wasn't designed to stop 2 interloping dogs - they weren't supposed to be off their leads, were they?

'Oh, Shit! Far Out! There's nothing for it. I'm going to have to go in. Thank God it's Sunday'. (The irony of that was lost on me at the time.) If there'd been anyone about I'd be done for! I went red in the face just thinking about it!

So, feeling like the scum of the earth- disrespectful of the environment and the kids' best efforts, I managed (just) to vault the fence -Lucky me -and did my best to track my errant knaves. 'Bloody dogs! Wait 'til I get hold of them!'
Just at that moment, the foliage kinda erupted, just ahead of me, and Charli bounced out, panting, tail wagging, saliva drooling from a doggie grin, eyes wide: 'Oh! There you are!' her demeanour seemed to say - 'I wondered where you'd got to!' And there was me thinking the same thing!
Quick as a flash I got her on the lead and said, 'Where's Stumpy? Find Stumpy!' She took off, no hesitation, dragging me faster than I could manage, into thick, stinking, sinking, mangrove mud - oh, about 30 cm or so deep, on the water's edge. And my, 'til then, relatively clean, good leather walking shoes disappeared - my ankles and calves, too, up to my knees! 'FAR OUT! I'm going to kill him when I find him' I resolved - 'if I find him'. Charli charged on and I decided to go for broke: GET IN. GET OUT. AND TO HECK WITH IT - inspired by Stumpy's demented lead.
I was doing my best to avoid too much damage but our combined path through the hitherto pristine area was more than obvious: broken plant stems, snapped twigs, tattered blooms and paw and foot-prints in a rather bold, if haphazard, pattern in the chocolatey mud. SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! After about another 15 minutes of this - and you have to remember, Charli was also grappling with the challenge of mud, mud, glorious mud, the creek seemed to be narrowing and ended unexpectedly in a kind of mucky-looking pool, about 5 metres in circumference, edged with thick flora of the inhospitable, impenetrable kind and there, on the far side, from me, again, of course, was 'STUMPY! YOU LITTLE SHIT!'

He didn't look very happy. He was sopping wet and absolutely filthy. It then occurred to me he hadn't run as much as swum his way the entire length of the creek and was, to coin a phrase, absolutely buggered. 'Stumps,' I shouted again, 'Come here.' The look I got was 'You must be flippin jokin' woman!' I tried to entice him across by changing the tone of my voice but still received: 'No way. Uh-uh. No can do.' Whether he chose to mistrust me - he knew he'd transgress - or was simply exhausted I'm honestly not sure, but he steadfastly remained where he was, albeit gently sinking into the claggy, cloying clutches of the clayey bank.
I though better of him and decided he'd had enough of his experience (the ducks were long gone) so held out an olive branch: I gingerly took a step into the water - it rushed to crotch level, was surprisingly cold and I could feel the fine sediment between my toes - and elsewhere! Encouraged, Stumpy too, took a step forward - kind like, if you meet me half-way, I'll do the same, but I also suspect he didn't trust the stuff he was standing on any more than I did: definitely not user-friendly!
In this fashion, carefully, cautiously, we both made our respective progress towards a convivial meeting point, neither of us wanting to disappear, possibly permanently, from view, beneath the surface of some very treacherous swamp material. (I'd left Charli tethered to the side of the electric fence, which I'd only recently discovered, was turned off!)
After a level of fairly serious negotation, I was able to grab hold of Stumpy's collar and carefully lifted him clear of the mes we'd found ourselves in.
Once sure of my footing, I turned around and headed back, not quite the way I'd come, 'cos the holes made previously would now be filled with water and you'd be likely to sink in even further. What a pickle! I couldn't believe it. One dog tethered, howling - disturbing all the protected species, the other pooped, covered in black, almost excremental, sticky goo, cocooned in my arms like and baby and one human: dishevelled, mud-smeared from face to foot (did I mention I'd worn white to guarantee a level of coolness on such a hot day) squelching and oh so obviously guilty of a local misdemeanour. But at least we were together and I was - wait for it - 'back in control'!

Author: Rhea Wells
Country: Australia
True story: Yes
Rating: 1 paw down
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