first water dog hunt for Bentley

Bentley's cautious (politically correct phrase for chicken) nature prevented him from catching the spirit of water dog hunting. If you are unfamiliar with this, it is a milder version of alligator wrestling. Bentley saw the mud and decided that "Grandma Marcie" could go in the water to net the critters. I talked long and hard trying to highlight the thrills he would be missing out on. I sang praises to the simplicity of scooping them into the nets and then depositing them into our viewing container. He said he wanted to watch. I set Chloe on a rock and told her to stay put. I stepped into the mud mixed with cowpies, a lovely combination, and spied a fine specimen. I very smoothly netted the critter and attempted to remove myself from the muck. The muck had other ideas and refused to release my tevas from it's grip. As I put my seldom used leg muscles to work to show the ground who was boss, my foot came lose from the shoe except where it remained tethered around my ankle. This resulted in me doing a face plant into the sludge and Chloe, who seldom follows instruction but this time had remained seated where I left her, was splattered with dripping slime. She cried and carried on. The child usually celebrates dirt but this time she was put out. The good news was I retained the water dog in the net. The bad news was Bentley was creeped out by the water dog. He said that he did not like the "swimming lizards" and would not hold the container for a picture. He agreed to let me set it by his feet. I won't give up hope on him. Maybe next year he will cowboy up. Speeking of cows, he thought they were "nasty" for using the bathroom outside. He wanted to go back to the cabin to his mom and as we drove he told me in a very gentle voice, "You smell really bad, Grandma Marcie". I guess swimming in cow ponds will do that to you.