A RESCUE MISSION, A BONE HEIST, AND A GLASS OF WINE

There comes a point in every dog's life when something happens that permanently changes the way they see the world. For Hooligan, that moment came courtesy of our swimming pool.

Now, before anyone starts blaming the pool, I should probably explain. Up until that day, the pool deck was one of Hooligan's favorite places. We'd play tag, wrestle, race around, and generally act like complete goofballs while I got ready to swim. He'd happily follow me everywhere.

That afternoon didn't seem like it was going to be any different. I'd gone swimming plenty of times before, and Hooligan had always stopped at the top of the ladder to watch me. I fully expected him to do exactly the same thing again.

I had absolutely no idea that, for reasons known only to Hooligan, today would be the day he decided to follow me into the pool.

I stepped onto the ladder-style steps. He followed.

I honestly did a double take. He'd followed me to the top of that ladder countless times before, but he'd always stopped there. I wasn't expecting anything different that day.

Apparently, neither was Hooligan.

One step was perfectly fine. On the second step, the floor disappeared.

I will never forget the look on his face. It happened so fast, but I swear I watched the realization hit him before he went under. It was like something straight out of a cartoon. His eyes got huge. You could almost hear his brain screaming,

"WAIT! WHERE DID THE FLOOR GO?!"

PLOP!

One very surprised Irish Wolfhound landed in the swimming pool.

To his credit, he immediately figured out how to swim. To his dismay, he had also just discovered that pools apparently possess the ability to make perfectly solid ground disappear without warning.

Fortunately, I was right beside him. Before he had a chance to panic, I grabbed hold of him, kept him close, and gently guided him right back to the ladder steps. He climbed out soaking wet, thoroughly confused, but otherwise perfectly fine.

At least physically.

While I moved on, Hooligan reached a very different conclusion. The pool was dangerous. Not because of the water, but because it had already proven, beyond any reasonable doubt, that it was perfectly willing to make the floor disappear. Unlike the rest of us, he had firsthand experience.

From that day forward, every single swim followed exactly the same routine. The moment I stepped into the pool, the barking started. Loud and urgent. Clearly I had forgotten what this monster was capable of. Surely, I'd come to my senses if he barked long enough.

When that didn't work, he stole my towel. When that didn't work, he stole my flip-flops. Apparently, he believed that at some point I'd realize I couldn't possibly continue swimming without proper footwear.

When neither rescue attempt worked, he developed a new plan.

Operation Whac-a-Mole.

Our pool deck only covered one section of the pool, so once I swam away from the steps, Hooligan couldn't simply follow me along the deck. He'd hop down onto the ground and race around the outside of the pool trying to keep up with me.

Unfortunately for him, once he was on the ground, the pool walls were simply too tall for him to keep me in sight. So Hooligan invented his own solution.

He'd race around the outside of the pool, then suddenly spring straight into the air. For a split second, he'd seem to hover there with all four feet dangling beneath him, like gravity had politely agreed to take a brief coffee break. The jump was only high enough for him to peek over the top of the pool wall, make sure I was still there, then race off to the next spot where he'd do it all over again.

That quickly became his new rescue routine. The funny part was I never knew where he was going to pop up next. I'd just be peacefully swimming when—

HOP!

Giant Wolfhound head. Two enormous worried eyes. One very, very concerned expression.

And those ears. Oh my gosh, those ears.

Every hop sent them flying into a completely different arrangement, like some sort of deranged Dr. Seuss hat that couldn't make up its mind what it wanted to be.

Sometimes he'd bark. Sometimes he'd simply stare to make sure I was still alive. Then he'd disappear again. A few seconds later—

HOP!

Different side of the pool. Different ear arrangement. Same worried expression.

Around and around he went, making his frantic circuit around the pool while checking to make sure I hadn't been swallowed by the monster.

Every time I swam back toward the ladder steps, he'd immediately abandon his patrol and race back onto the deck, tail wagging and eyes locked on the ladder. This was it. The rescue had worked. Mom had finally come to her senses.

If I climbed out, he was absolutely ecstatic. But if I pushed off the wall and headed back toward the middle of the pool, you could almost see him thinking, "We're doing this again?"

Then he'd hop back off the deck and resume patrol.

This continued for every single swim. Our own oversized version of Whac-a-Mole had quietly become part of pool season.

Meanwhile, Clover had been quietly watching this entire production. Day after day, she watched the barking, the towel theft, the flip-flop theft, and Hooligan's frantic patrol around the pool.

I swear she eventually started looking at me like she was saying, "Can you PLEASE make him stop?"

Honestly, I think she'd finally had enough of her twerpy, derpy little brother.

On this particular afternoon, she'd taken up her usual observation post near the gazebo, the highest point in our backyard. From there she had a perfect view of everything: me, the pool, Hooligan, Hooligan's pen, and Hooligan's favorite bone.

In hindsight, that probably wasn't ideal.

Hooligan was fully committed to Operation Save Mom, running, hopping, barking, and completely focused on keeping visual contact with me.

I happened to glance over at Clover. She wasn't watching me anymore. She was watching Hooligan.

Then she looked toward his pen. Then back at Hooligan. Then back at the pen.

She stood up.

I actually said it out loud to myself. "No."

She started trotting down the hill. "No way she's going to."

She never hesitated.

"Yep. She's taking his bone."

Sure enough, she trotted straight into Hooligan's pen, picked up his favorite bone, turned around, and trotted right back out again.

Not sneaking. Not hiding.

Her tail was held high. Her head was held high. Every step had that wonderfully bouncy trot of hers, like each foot was powered by its own little spring. She looked ridiculously pleased with herself.

Then, as she rounded the corner of the house toward the front yard, she started tossing the bone up into the air as she trotted, happily entertaining herself with her newly acquired prize.

Meanwhile—

HOP!

"There she is!"

HOP!

"There she is again!"

Poor Hooligan never noticed a thing.

Eventually, I climbed out of the pool. The second my feet hit the deck, Hooligan practically exploded with happiness. He'd done it. The rescue mission had finally succeeded.

He proudly trotted beside me as we headed back toward his pen. I swear he looked like a firefighter who had just rescued someone from a burning building. Mission accomplished. Now it was time to celebrate.

He walked straight to where his favorite bone always was. He stopped, looked, looked again, sniffed the ground, and looked one more time.

Then he slowly turned toward me.

I could almost see the wheels turning as he reached the only logical conclusion. I could almost hear the accusation.

"Mother. After everything I've done for you today, you took my bone?"

His little face absolutely broke my heart.

I immediately went inside to get him another bone and, while I was there, I heard absolute chaos erupt outside.

I looked out the window and discovered Clover was no longer in the front yard. She had returned to the back of the house and was lying in the grass directly in front of Hooligan, her tail spinning with joy as she happily chewed on his bone.

He was barking and crying with deafening intensity.

I walked back outside. I didn't want to take the bone away from Clover. I tried to hand Hooligan the new bone, but he wouldn't even look at it. He ignored both it and me.

He clearly wasn't impressed. He wanted the old one. The one Clover had taken.

HIS bone.

Poor Hooligan just stood there watching her, looking absolutely devastated.

At that point I honestly felt defeated. I didn't want Hooligan standing there heartbroken, so I set the new bone beside him, told them they'd have to work things out on their own, and walked back into the house.

I got myself the one thing I really needed after supervising a canine rescue mission, a perfectly executed bone heist, and what had somehow turned into an emotional hostage negotiation: a nice, well-deserved glass of wine.

Because sometimes being referee to two Irish Wolfhounds is simply above my pay grade.