Dad and I were on the 4-wheelers one day, and we were pulling up to the creek to cross it, only to find that it was deeper than we expected, and we had to turn back. “Dang,” he said, “and I don’t have my depth-finder with me today, either.”
“Your depth-finder?” I asked. “What’s that?” I just knew there was a joke coming, because he had that look. But I was expecting the depth-finder to be a really long tree limb or something.
“Oh, you know, Fritz is my depth-finder for the creek, “ he said, like that made perfect sense. “I just tell her to jump in, and if she can touch bottom, I know I can cross in the 4-wheeler. If she has to swim, it’s too deep. Works for telling how deep the river is too.”
That was several years ago, and I’m now quite familiar with Fritz’s fondness for bailing off ledges into water. It does provide some nice photo ops, though.
“Only weird thing is,” he said, “afterwards when she rides behind me on the 4-wheeler she leans on me all the way home and we both end up smelling like wet dog.” Sure, Dad, THAT’s the weird part about this.