It was a still, hazy early spring morning on Lake Muskoka; April 2 to be exact.  I was alone in the cottage with my English Cocker Spaniel puppy, Phoebe.  The other cottagers were in the city as was my husband.  Every morning for the past six weeks, a crew had been building a dock across the bay, but not today.  Not a soul in sight.  I loved this time of year.  The ice was breaking up on the lake and the only sound was the odd crack.  Total silence; peace.

There was a meeting at the town hall that morning to discuss development on the island and I thought it might be interesting.  It would be a shame to destroy the natural beauty of the island.  The bay was home to a blue heron, a beaver and many other solitary animals.  Cottagers in the area and these animals respected each other and left each other alone.

Reluctant to turn from the window, I put on my long, cozy bathrobe and slippers and headed for the door to let Phoebe outside.  She sniffed and rolled in the snow and made me laugh.  I went into the kitchen to put coffee on.  When I returned to the door to wipe her feet and let her in, I realized that she was nowhere in view.  I stepped outside to look for her.  It was not like Phoebe to wander.  As I looked at the lake, I knew it was time to start tying her up.  The ice was melting and the ice shelf only extended about 30 feet from the shore.

I followed footprints to the side of the house and looked over at the lake.  I scanned the front and sides of our lot, calling Phoebe’s name.  Looking to my right, towards the neighbour’s boathouse, I thought I could see something black at the edge of the ice shelf.  Running over the burm to my neighbours’ yard, my mind was going a mile a minute.  What was I going to do?  If it was Phoebe, she could have been in the water for up to 10 minutes and the water was freezing.  Phoebe never barked to get your attention; she just knew that you would find her.  She once got locked in the laundry room for at least an hour and even though we searched all over the house, calling her, she remained silent until we opened the door.  She stood patiently looking up at us with her tail wagging.  Such trust!

It was Phoebe with her paws on the edge of the ice.  I could picture her tail wagging under the water.  As I stood on the shore in my slippers, I realized I needed something to try to reach her.  I called to her to stay, that I would be right back.  You always think your dog understands everything.

            I ran home, put on my lace-up, ankle length boots, and grabbed a shovel and a rope.  As I ran back over the hill again, I still didn’t know exactly what I would do but there was no question that I was going to rescue her.

While talking calmly to Phoebe, I extended the shovel, thinking – what? – that she could put her front feet on it and I would pull her in?  Phoebe moved sideways away from the shovel and the shovel slipped from my hands.  As it slid off the ice shelf, I knew I was going to have to get Phoebe myself.  The ice looked safe enough, but I lay down spread eagle to distribute my weight as much as possible.  The shovel and rope had been a waste of time.  As I inched toward Phoebe, I heard a loud noise and looked to my left to see a crack in the ice as long as my body.  I remember thinking, “I really have to lose some weight” and next thing I knew, I was swimming behind Phoebe, slowly and calmly in the frigid water.  I cupped her rear end and hoisted her onto the ice far enough that she could run to shore and home.  She didn’t even look back!

I looked around the lake and shore and in the silent stillness, felt like I was in an eggshell.  Funny to feel that way; I’ve always thought of an eggshell as protective.  Here there was just me and Mother Nature.  Circling slowly in the water, I thought, ‘this is how people die’.  There was no fear, I was very peaceful.  I would just slip under the water and disappear.  My head was dry and so far, my feet were too.  I checked the nearby boathouse and decided it was about 40 feet away.  That was my goal, to reach the side of the boathouse.  With my right hand, I held the edge of the ice.  For what reason? I have no idea.  Every few strokes, I called ‘help’ as loudly and slowly as I could.  But of course, there was no one to hear me.  The sound was sucked into the air as soon as it was uttered.

The township lowered the water level in the winter and the fat PBC pipe carrying the water pipe to the neighbours’ cottage was suspended at the side of the boathouse.  Under the boathouse, the gravel was above water level.  If I could swim to the side, I could grab the water pipe and pull myself to shore.  Again and again, I yelled ‘help’ and could feel the sound being absorbed in the hazy whiteness.  Finally, I reached the water pipe and grabbed it.  There was open water between it and the ice shelf, enough for me to move to shore.  At the shore line there was a large boulder, like a step to the boathouse dock.  I was losing strength as I approached the boulder and realized just how high it was above the water.  It was getting harder to move in the water.  The heavy fabric of the robe (it even had a hood) was dragging me down.  I reached the rock and as I touched it with my wet hand, the water froze on the stone, making it slippery.  Somehow, I pulled and dragged myself up onto the rock.  I wanted to stay there, just for a few minutes, to catch my breath.  Something told me to keep going. I looked way up at the dock.  Impossible!   With the last of my strength and one more deep breath, I managed to crawl up and land in a heap on the dock.  Again, my body just wanted to stay there, out of the water, and rest, but I knew if I didn’t get up right away and move I would never move again.

Getting on all fours was a feat and I had to grab the side of the boathouse to haul myself to a standing position.  My bathrobe weighed a hundred pounds.  My feet were relatively dry in my boots and I forced myself to put one in front of the other towards home.  The little burm was now a mountain between me and safety.

My fingers were numb and ached terribly.  I tried to keep them moving as I plodded across the snow to our door.  My fingers were on fire!  I knew I could walk faster if I removed the soggy, bulky bathrobe, but that would be just the time the local electrician with the beautiful, deep blue eyes would drop in to see if everything was okay and I really thought I would rather die than be caught pink and naked with my boots on.

Phoebe was trembling in the sun by the door when I finally got there and she ran into the house as soon as the door was open.  Immediately inside the door, I fumbled to unzip my bathrobe.  It was like watching someone else’s hands move, but eventually it dropped to the floor.  My fingers were not working and every movement caused more pain.  The laces on my boots were a bigger challenge.  Somehow the laces came loose I pulled my feet out and away from the wet clothing.

I grabbed Phoebe and headed toward the bathroom to get some towels.  I wrapped two large bath towels around her quaking body.  As I rubbed her furiously, I hit speed dial on the phone.  My daughter, Leanne lived in town and was only 10 minutes away.  I knew she would not answer the phone this early. She would still be in bed and think it was a client.  I let it ring twice, hung up and repeated this twice more.  When she still did not answer, I called my husband’s cell phone.  He was in the city on the way to work and wanted to chat. Between chattering teeth, I tried to explain what happened.  Now was not the time for a discussion. I told him to call Leanne until she answered the phone and tell her to get over here ASAP.  Just let me get under the covers!

I bundled Phoebe and myself under the covers and kept rubbing her in the towel to stimulate circulation in both of us.  Don’t stop moving, don’t stop moving.  If you’re moving, you’re alive.

Finally, I heard the door and Leanne’s gasp when she saw the wet mess.  She called out and ran into the bedroom.  Phoebe, by this time had pretty much returned to normal body temperature and wanted to play with Joey, Leanne’s dog.

Leanne had understood from her Dad that I had waded into the water a bit and but never guessed that I went for a swim!  She started to run a bath for me, but I didn’t have the energy to get in.  Instead, she started the shower.  Her eyes opened wide when she saw my red and battered body.   My finger nails were torn and worn away, I had cuts and scrapes all over; the bruises would come later.  I stood in the shower with my head against the wall and let the warm water run down my back, slowly warming me.  Leanne sat on the floor with Phoebe, fluffing and drying her with the hair blower.   I asked her if she was alright.  Whatever the situation, mothers always want to protect their children.  She said, “I’m fine, you’re the one who went swimming!”

When the chill lessened and I stopped shaking, I had Leanne turn the water off and help me get dried off.  I looked in the mirror.  It was not pretty.  I was still red and had a big scrape on my right knee, probably from pulling myself up on the rock.  My hands, arms and legs were a mess, but nothing that wouldn’t heal.

Phoebe was busy playing with Joey as if nothing had happened!

Leanne made me some herbal tea and got me settled on the couch with lots of blankets.  Philip, my husband, called from the office where our other children worked as well, so they all heard the story.  I don’t think I was terribly coherent even then.

After the warm tea and some toast, I became very tired.  Leanne left once she was sure that Phoebe and I would sleep for a few hours.  She would come back later to check us.

We slept together on the couch and eventually, my body warmed.  When I awoke, I looked out at the lake and the ice and recounted the events of the morning. We both could have died.  At the time, there was no option; my maternal instincts took over and I just did what any mother would do for their child - or pet.

I felt very proud that I saved Phoebe’s life and could now claim to be the first one in the lake that season.  No one will beat that record!

Phoebe is thirteen now and slowing down.  She and I still have a special relationship.  She cuddles like a baby and hugs my neck.  I still have the scar on my right knee.  When she looks up at me with her big, trusting eyes, I wonder if she remembers our adventure?