A Cautionary Tale M
Jeffrey Reel - Hartland, VT
y daughter and I lived in the Berkshire Mountains of Western Massachusetts with our five-year-old lab/retriever, Lucky. Lucky was more than a member of the household. He was family: gentle, sociable, intelligent, and my daughter’s best friend and companion. It was just the three of us, finding comfort in each other’s presence. Lucky was a stabilizing presence. Our home was located on a dirt road that ended at the shore of a lake. Our house was surrounded by summer homes and we enjoyed peace and solitude during most of each year. It was on an April morning when I took Lucky for his regular morn-
36 4 Legs & a Tail
ing walk, and the day was typical for early April in the Berkshires: cold, overcast, and with a temperature hovering around 25 degrees. Spring comes late in the Berkshires. The last remaining patches of snow take refuge in the shade of houses and trees. All that remains of the lake ice is a thin sheet of glass. As was our custom on morning walks, I brought along a two-way radio, leaving the other for my daughter back at the house so we could communicate during the five-minute stroll. Lucky walked alongside me toward a stretch of woods near the shore. I heard, but took little notice of, two large Canada Geese standing along what would be the shore a few weeks from now but that was still hidden under a thin sliver of ice and a crust of snow. Lucky had always been intimidated by the geese – loud, aggressive birds – and his habit had been to safely watch them from a distance. This time, though, things took a sudden turn. Lucky suddenly bolted after the geese, which took off, flying low and slow over the thinning ice and out over the lake. I yelled for him to stop and, as he approached the shore and lake ice, I screamed for him at the top of my lungs, as if his life depended on it. But his instinct to chase was strong and he was unaware of the danger in his pursuit. He raced across the beach, then onto the ice, and out over the lake at full speed. My heart raced and then sank, as I could only watch, waiting for that moment when Lucky would break through the ice and plunge into the water, well out of reach. About 150 feet out, the ice gave way beneath him and he disappeared under the surface of the water. After a few moments, his head popped back up. He threw his front paws up on the ice and scraped against it, trying to lift himself up and out of the water. He struggled for a minute or two, then stopped and simply rested his gaze upon me, and waited. I stood there, stunned in disbelief and horror. Only moments before we were on just another morning walk. Now, all I could see of Lucky was his head and front paws, his eyes fixed intently upon mine, waiting for me to pull him out of the ice-cold water. I considered the choices. I could stand there for the next 20 minutes in order to “be with him” until he slipped back into, and under, the water for the final time, or I could turn away and return to the house, with Lucky’s eyes fastened upon my back. Both seemed incomprehensible and unacceptable, yet fate seemed to be forcing those cruel choices upon me. I couldn’t explain to Lucky why I would not come for him, and I wouldn’t know what to say to my daughter when I returned to the house without him. My body shook with fear, sadness overwhelmed me, yet my mind continued to race for a miracle. I noticed that a nearSpring 2022
