That Dog Won’t Hunt

If you are a southerner of the red variety you are familiar with the phrase, “that dog won’t hunt.” Not a literal saying, it means whatever that is, it is not going to work.  
Today’s theme here on the coast is, “that dog won’t swim.” Not all dogs, just our dog. After a day of mostly big giant rain, when it finally cleared up Lane and I put on our bathing suits to jump in the back water. Lane’s pirate dog, Petunia, the one with one blue eye and one brown, put on her life preserver and jumped right in the water. Shay looked jaunty in her red life preserver but was a nervous wreck on the dock and had no intention of getting in the water. As Lane, Petunia and I frolicked in the water Shay paced back and forth from the dock to the sea wall.  
After our swim and a few games of Rummy Kube our husbands and lovers of these girl dogs arrived from the triangle. The dogs were besides themselves with anticipation of getting to snuggle with their Daddy’s.
John could not wait to get out on his boat so we packed up all the dogs, including the two thirteen year old boys with the young Shay and Petunia and went out on the water. Shay rode the whole trip shaking in Russ’ lap, fearful that we might have expectations of her swimming. We did not.
Tomorrow, as long as the weather holds, we are going to the swimming hole where grown ups can stand around in the water and drink while the swimming dogs go round and round the boat. Whether Shay will swim is doubtful, ’cause that dog won’t swim.