Read Online Cottage Daze by James Ross - Free Book Online

never again see this old dog running wild at our cottage. My youngest, not fully understanding, tilted her head back and looked up at me, concerned for my tears. She thought it was only she who wept.
    We don’t know what happened. Perhaps he had eaten something he shouldn’t have. Perhaps it was just his time. The old-timers on the lake gave their theories — poison toads, tainted mushrooms, reaction to a bee sting. What was indisputable was that he had lived well, a long and full life.
    Though he may have managed to live slightly longer if we were home and closer to help, in the end death had joined Macky to the place he loved. We can all wish for a similar end.
    First Ski
    Learning to water-ski is a little bit like learning to ride a bicycle. Okay, so one of them is on dry land and one is in the water, one of them is on two wheels and the other is on two boards. Still, it is balance and trying, and falling and trying again, and skinning your knee or swallowing lake water, and then trying one more time.
    With training wheels off, you hold the seat of your kid’s bike and run along behind. You let go for a second and the bike starts to wobble, so you lunge forward, grab on, and run some more. You might just be getting into the best shape of your life. Finally, on the umpteenth try, you let go and the child just pedals away. You jog a bit further, but you know the time has come. You stop and try to cheer, but you are wheezing, hunched over, and gasping for breath. So you delicately give a thumbs-up.
    My nine-year-old son got up on water skis this week. He has been working hard at it this summer, trying to keep up with his older sisters. We do not have the fancy training bars on the boat, or any particular model of learning skis. When the children’s feet fit into the smallest pair of water skis we own, they are welcome to give it a try.
    They get into the water, hold the rope, yell “Hit it,” and then we see where it takes us. We get into the water with them, hold them steady, bombard them with little tidbits of useless advice, and then watch helplessly as they are jerked quickly to the surface of the water. Just as quickly, they get tossed back into the lake with a violent splash and a clatter of skis. Their legs go in different directions, so you are sure their limber bodies will be torn in two.
    We swim up to them and tell them that they were almost up. We urge them to give it another try. “Don’t let go so quickly,” we tell them. They trust us and try again — this time hanging on to the tow bar far too long after they have fallen, dragging themselves through the water like a torpedo, swallowing half of the lake. “Just about,” we yell when they finally surface.
    I do not think any of us really know what the secret to getting up on the skis is — at least I know I don’t. We give advice culled from our years of skiing, but until everything comes together for them, in their own brains, they are going nowhere.
    Then the time comes. He is up — unsteady, yes, but up and skiing. His skis drift apart, and with body language you try to will him out of the splits. He bends too far forward and bobs over some rough water, but refuses to go down. The wide smile on his face is reward enough for all the patience and repetition. You try to cheer, but instead take in a mouthful of lake water and only sputter and cough and stick a thumbs-up. You realize you are freezing to death. You realize that the boat is coming back around and you’re bobbing in the middle of the bay. You swim frantically for shore and realize that you were in better shape way back when you were teaching him to ride his bicycle.
    It’s all worth it, because he is skiing, and he is feeling good about himself. You know that now that he has gotten up, he will always get up, always be able to ski. Like learning to ride a bike, when you put it all together and rise out of the water … there is