Last weekend, Mark had a two day board meeting out of town, which culminated in being towed home since his car wouldn't start.  He descended from the tow truck with his backpack of overnight gear, his laptop, and his wading boots in hand.

But while Mark was gone, warm rains melted a lot of our snow and gushed into the creek in frigid, muddy rivulets.  The creek had risen far past the point where wading boots would do any good.  Luckily, Mark had a backup plan --- scoot across the creek on a handy log.

For future reference, when scooting across a raging creek on a log, it's best to carry as little as possible.  Mark knew the drill, so he paused before embarking to toss his wading boots to the other shore.  Boot number one whizzed through the air and landed on the creekbank.  Boot number two swung aloft and --- thunk! --- hit an arching limb, then --- splash! --- landed in the flood waters.  With a last gulp of air, the boot sank.

Now, you have to understand that those boots are Mark's babies.  He bought them less than a month ago in an attempt to keep his feet dry through the freeze/mud cycle.  So when his boot landed in the flood, Mark went in after it...waist deep in cold, cold water.  But the boot got away, and Mark came home dripping wet and worn out.

Ever since, Lucy and I have been patrolling the creek on our daily walks.  Finally, Wednesday morning, the waters cleared up enough that we could see all the way to the bottom.  And, just fifteen feet downstream, there was our quarry!  We pulled it out and brought it home, triumphant.  Lucy won three dog bones and I won a kiss.  Sure is nice to be the hero.