A Morning Dip with River, the Aquatic Canine

It was one of those mornings when the sun seemed to have taken a personal affront to the very concept of moderation, determined to fry us all into a crisp, human-shaped fritter. My internal thermostat, never terribly reliable at the best of times, was already sputtering, threatening to turn me into something resembling a well-boiled lobster. Mercifully, a mutual agreement was struck with River's human companion: an ungodly early rendezvous, primarily to snatch what little decent light might be lurking about, and secondarily to prevent me from keeling over mid-shutter-click, an unedifying prospect for all concerned.

Now, River, a fine, strapping black Labrador, was indeed aptly named. "River" he was, and rivers, it turned out, were his passion, his very raison d'être. One might even say he was a connoisseur of currents, a savant of streams. A slight wrinkle in the grand plan, however, was River's particular medical issue, rendering camera flash a distinct no-no. This, naturally, elevated the pursuit of pristine natural light from a mere preference to an absolute, non-negotiable imperative.

My usual modus operandi with water-loving canines involves a preemptive land-based portrait session, a futile attempt to capture some semblance of dry dignity before the inevitable transformation into a soggy, four-legged mop. But despite the intoxicating gurgle and murmur of the nearby flowing water, River, bless his cotton socks, indulged us. He sat, he stayed, he even managed a few soulful gazes amidst the verdant ferns, all while the siren song of the river no doubt echoed in his very soul. Ten minutes, in human time, is but a blink; in dog-time, it's an eternity, a veritable eon of dutiful posing. River, however, bore it with the stoicism of a seasoned professional.

Then, inevitably, it was time for the main event. My own peculiar affliction, you see, dictates that I must, must, peer through the viewfinder. The fancy LCD screen, with all its modern conveniences, might as well be a blank piece of slate for all the use I get out of it. This rather antiquated foible means that, to achieve the desired aquatic masterpiece, I frequently find myself prostrate in the shallows, camera clutched precariously, as a jubilant, water-obsessed Black Lab, propelled by some unseen canine jet engine, hurtles directly towards me. The resulting geyser of spray and general aquatic chaos is, frankly, breathtaking.

Emerging from the embrace of the river, tastefully adorned with a liberal sprinkling of water, sand, and the occasional errant shell, it was genuinely difficult to ascertain who had derived more unadulterated joy from the exercise. Given the inevitable post-adventure car-cleaning ritual that awaited me, I daresay River ultimately emerged as the undisputed victor in the 'fun stakes'. But oh, what a glorious, messy, utterly Bryson-esque victory it was.