The dog came screaming and snarling down the hill like we’d been standing on its front porch trying to break down the door. We were just walking! We’d been fishing all morning, and were just looking for a new spot, minding our own business, following the road around the lake. It wasn’t even like it was unusual for us to be there. People fished around here all the time, and not a hundred yards away, at that very moment, the beach was packed.
I didn’t know at first where Ben had gone. I saw those teeth and I just started swinging. As scared as I was, I was swinging so hard I worried about damaging my pole. It was only when I realized it wasn’t having any effect that I thought I might actually get bit. That’s when I noticed Ben, still cautiously close by, slowly backing with me, but ready to help, even though he probably had no clue how he could. But I also caught another glimpse of the water behind us, and suddenly I knew exactly what to do.
Ben seemed to read my mind. As we moved straight back, I kept swinging. Then, at the last second, I stopped, spun around, and we both jumped from the bank and into the water. The dog didn’t follow. Looking back, I remember it was an Irish Setter—a water-loving breed—so I guess we got lucky. We followed the shallows until we were apparently outside of its imagined territory, then climbed back onto the road in our squishy shoes.
Fuck that dog.