Brown Bird XVII

I love that you never let me fish. You were too preoccupied with diving into the water. 110 pound cannonball thrashing around in the water, chasing every cast. I cut a dozen lures lose that day just to keep you out of the vet. There wasn’t much point in casting either when the water wouldn’t sit still. But, I didn’t care, I always fucking hated fishing. All the bugs, the sun, and god damn is it fucking boring. There’s no greater waste of potential than sitting on the shore. And—since I’d already found everything I needed—I egged you on. I egged you on by casting what I had left. Then I grabbed your ball and just kept throwing it. You were so god damn happy, which made me happy. I packed up everything at the end of the day. You jumped in the truck, dripping in algae and swamp water, and we never went fishing again. We went back to the water more times than I can count, but never for fishing. I still fucking hate fishing. I never much cared for the lake either…but I loved you, so that’s what we did.