I went for a walk with my mother yesterday. She is 98 years and 11 months old but happily powers up modest hills and assorted terrain unaided by walking frame or stick. Anyway, we were walking along a bushy path next to the Yarra River and decided to enjoy a bit of sunshine and a rest on a bench seat. Shortly after, a boisterous young bull terrier bounded up followed soon after by his master. Just as he said now don’t you roll on that grass, the dog proceeded to do so. Ther grass was longish and sloped down towards the river. Next thing Mum and I saw was his arse in the air as the dog slid headfirst into the river. It was a sheer drop of some 3 or so feet so the dog couldn’t get back up. Instead, he was propped head just above water sort of underneath the edge.
What to do ?
Its the start of winter so stripping off was not an attractive option. So, after some discussion, the master lay on his belly while I hung on to his ankles to stop him from sliding in, all the while hoping that I didn’t follow him into the drink and the grass was lush and slippery. Eventually, the 2-year-old bull terrier – Apollo was his name – was grabbed by the collar and hauled up, and I hauled his master back from the brink of the drink and all was right with the world.
Effusive thanks were given and we resumed our walk.
Made Mum’s day.