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Flailing in the Shallows

Oh, there’s something between us, Mommy, I can’t get to you! her eyes tell me.

I try, but the waves keep coming to get me, and the sand grabs at my feet. But I love you too much not to be with you, so here I come! 

Stepping, then jumping then paddling then splashing the water furiously. The look on her face is pure panic. Save me, Mommy. Save me. The water is everywhere, all around me. Save me.

Her huge brown eyes are pleading and frantic in fear. Her paws are frantically splashing, her extended claws are razor sharp, gashing my shoulders, my midsection, my arms.

Reaching, alluding, splashing, eyes averted, my hands grasp and finally hold fast to her front paws. I lift them to my shoulders and her to standing; her back paws now established on the firm sand at both our feet. We embrace.

I am gashed and bleeding, but she is safe. We are safe. I turn her and usher her safely back to shore.

I don’t ask why she panicked. I know this fear.

I don’t blame her for my injuries. I know this lashing out.

I am rescued daily from such romps in the surf.

I know these firm hands that grasp mine to help me stand.

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