The yellow-sailed windsurfer to the right of the ball gives a sense of scale.
It was all the way up to plus four (39°F) today, so E.g. and I took the dogs to Cherry Beach.
We hadn’t been there since the Autumn. I had been afraid that Cai would plunge right into the frigid water and get sick. We needn’t have worried, however; the lake was solid ice between Cherry Beach and the Leslie Street Spit.
There were, in fact, three young men out there parasurfing. We’ve watched people do this before, skipping along the waves harnessed to a banana-peel-shaped parachute, but we’d never considered that this could be a winter sport. The adventurers were criss-crossing the ice at a tremendous pace.
Not only was there that entertainment, but the sun was actually shining! It took us a moment to remember the name of it. “What’s that thing in the sky? It’s too early for the street lights to be on.”
We walked around the snow-covered beach three times, about 15 minutes per round. Cai and Fergus rushed here and there, meeting other dogs of various sorts, including a Vizsla named Dexter. E.g. asked me about the lyrics to an old camp song, “Kumula, kumula, kumula vizsla”. I said I didn’t know.
On the final round, we made the mistake of telling the boys that we were now heading for the car. That’s when Fergus, chaser of all things moving, finally noticed the parasurfers. Off he went like a dart.
Cai wasn’t too sure what to do. He’s been repeatedly told off for intercepting Fergus’s fun, and besides, the pup was already fifteen lengths ahead of him. He looked at us, he looked at Fergus’s retreating tail, he whined a little.
Then the solution came to us. We called each of our furchildren by name, in the nicest, loudest sing-song voice possible, once. Then we ran in the opposite direction, as hard as we could go, with Cai at our heels.
Fergus never made it onto the ice. He screeched to a halt in front of me, his whole body quivering with pride at having caught me so quickly.