We spent time on the Lake Placid this summer, one of a string of lakes separated by dams on the Guadalupe River in Central Texas. The kids and foolish adults ride the Sea Doo, a two-person water craft, up and down the lake. Nancy decided to take a turn but was afraid she couldn’t dock the thingamajig. New carpet on the dock glides was slick. If she managed to maneuver the Sea Doo up onto the glides, the craft’s weight would probably carry it backwards into the water. So she asked Connor to swim out and get on the craft behind her. She would slip off the side into the water and swim to shore, and Connor could dock the craft later.
Connor climbed up behind her, rocking the small boat. After Nancy finished clutching the plastic windshield while hyperventilating, she was ready to slide off.
“Here goes,” she said and plopped into the lake. But her foot and ankle didn’t clear the craft and banged against the side. With three appendages operational, she dog-paddled to the dock ladder, the worthless ankle swelling into a goose egg. As she struggled to climb up the ladder, a sympathetic dog came over to lick her face.
Nancy limped to a patio chair where the kids brought her ice bags for the lump. As they issued instructions, admonitions, and poked way too close to her injury, she contemplated the extent of the damage. There was no pain, and she could walk, despite an eggplant-colored foot and ankle the size of a cantaloupe. The other empathetic dog stood guard under her chair until he got sleepy and crashed, paws gallantly wrapped around the chair leg. A small injury provokes a lot of sympathy.
Sometimes it’s worth it.