Timmy's Flipped His Go-cart?

Mill Creek Ravine...not to scale.


Okay, so here's the thing...I live by Mill Creek Ravine and like to go walking, running, and cycling around down there. I never mean to, but I usually end up picking up bottles/cans/glass/trash and putting them in the garbage. That's me, Mr Civic Pride. Maybe I'll someday have some kind of pride parade in honour of myself, or maybe some group has an existing colourful pride parade that I can join.

Anyway - sometimes I take the neighbour's dog, Sophie, as an excuse to make me go out for longer. Plus, she's entertaining, really enjoys it, and is a conversation starter. She's black with cute little brown eyebrows - which makes her a chick magnet. Oh, and 99% of the time...when she poops, she poops in the woods somewhere and I don't have to scoop it.

For a few weeks now there's been one of those big plastic water containers sitting in the creek. It was caught in some roots and a fallen tree, the water's been high this year, and it's a difficult part of the creek to get down to with the muddy banks. I decided that I wasn't going to make any more excuses though, and I was going to fish that stupid container out of there this time.

Sophie was off of her leash and running around, and I scrambled down to the edge of the water and surveyed the situation: Too far to reach; too difficult to get to the other side of the creek; stupid tree on the other side overhanging and in the way. Surveying the situation didn't seem to help, so I then proceeded to examine, review, study, inspect, assess, analyze, appraise, evaluate, look over, consider, scan, look at, consider, peruse, regard, think about, plot, map out, chart, measure, graph, gauge, fathom, and plumb it. Nothing.

In my defense, Sophie kept distracting me by running around with sticks. She doesn't have any retriever in her, so this is unusual behaviour - she virtually never plays with them. Like Sherlock Holmes, I'm observant and intuitive, so this really stood out to me.

I did a test-lean, seeing how close I could get. Not close enough. Sophie is standing there with a stick in her mouth. I do another test-lean, this time in a slightly different way. Same result. Sophie is running around behind me with another stick. I turn the other way and try to reach. Nothing. Sophie is grabbing at a sticklike root. I debate going on my hands and knees to really maximize my lateral reach, but I can see that it won't be enough. Honestly, Sophie is not helping the situation at all - she wants to play or something and here I am trying to figure out a complex problem. It's not her fault really, dogs just don't have the brain capacity that we humans have. Or thumbs.

I know what you're thinking: After getting owned by spaghetti last week, he's about to have a Clouseau-esque flop into the muddy creek...likely involving a rambunctious and agitated dog.

Ha! Wrong! But let me continue, please...

I should be able to lean over the creek and grab onto the tree, providing it holds, then reach the container with my foot and kick it back. Yay, me and my giant brain! Just have to figure out a way to get out of that position though...leaning 45-degrees over the creek with nothing to pull myself back. If I tied a rock to my back foot to act as a counterweight like a tower crane...Oh for pete's sake, Sophie, put that long stick down and quit bugging me!

Oh crap.

Um, let's just say the solution turned out to be me using a long stick to knock the container back towards the bank. It's sad to say, but my ego wouldn't allow me to use any of the sticks that Sophie brought. At least she was good enough not to leave a pile of them there, sketch a diagram, or to actually fish the container out herself with one of her sticks and give me that look that all girls give guys when they've done something stupid and won't admit it. We had an uneventful walk home and I avoided eye contact. True story.



The intrepid hunters with their kill. I didn't have the pellet gun with me - it's just in the picture for big-game-hunter cred. I'm on the left.



I was thinking -- you know who I'd be really bad at? Being Timmy's parents on "Lassie"...

Them: What's that, Lassie? You're saying that Timmy has:
a) flipped his go-cart?
b) fallen down a well?
c) flipped his go-cart into a well?
I see you've got out a stout rope and pulley system already...now show us where Timmy is!

Result: Lassie is wonderful; Timmy is rescued, learns a lesson, and is set for another adventure in the next show. A wonderful and wholesome TV series is born.


Me: For fudge sake, quit barking already! Hey, that's my best block-and-tackle...bad dog! I'm locking you in the barn.

Result: Lassie is wonderful; Timmy dies in the pilot episode, no-one learns a lesson or wants another adventure. Years later, Hikers come across Timmy's body and the remains get returned to Timmy's father...Timmy's mother has died of heartbreak.