He ran over close to my pole and started digging at the ice. I whopped him with the cane.
That was the only time in my life I ever hit my dog. I had to get him out of the way so I could see what I was doing.
Just when I thought my task was impossible, I felt the hook slide under the tough leather.
It was none too soon. As gently as I could I dragged her over the rim of the ice.
At first I thought she was dead. She didn’t move. Old Dan started whining and licking her face and ears.
She moved her head. I started talking to her. She made an effort to stand but couldn’t.
Her muscles were paralyzed and the blood had long since ceased to flow.
At the movement of Little Ann, Old Dan threw a fit. He started barking and jumping.
His long red tail fanned the air. Still holding onto my pole, I tried to take a step backward.
My feet wouldn’t move. A cold gripping fear came over me. I thought my legs were frozen.
I made another effort to lift my leg. It moved. I realized that my feet were stuck in the soft muddy bottom.
I started backing out, dragging the body of my little dog. I couldn’t feel the pole in my hands.
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