David Heiller
Argus News Editor

We were riding back from the second spillway Sunday evening, my nephew, his friend, and me. It was starting to rain, so I wasnít paying much attention to the dogs, who were trailing behind. Maybe I was too busy admiring the three nice catfish on my stringer.

Our dog Riley is half golden retriever, which shows up whenever we are near water. Any time we go to the river, he makes frequent side trips to cool off and take a drink. If there is a dead fish to roll around in, so much the better.

As we pedaled our bikes across the first spillway, my nephew shouted out Rileyís name in a tone of voice that brought me to a quick stop.

I looked back to see Riley head for the water, about three feet from the inlet to Running Slough.

If youíve never been to the Reno Bottoms, the inlet from the river to the slough is a culvert about five feet in diameter that carries a huge volume of water from the river through it at all times. The water spreads out below it into a rocky waterway about 30 feet wide and 50 feet long. Thereís a set of rapids at the bottom. Thatís where you are likely to see fishermen, because fishing is usually good there.

Itís a fascinating spot, mesmerizing even, but one that has sent shivers up my spine for most of my life. You canít help but wonder what would happen if you slipped and fell there and went through the culvert and beyond.

I stopped my bike and ran towards Riley. He must have felt the current of the culvert, because he tried to climb out right away. His front feet slipped on the rocks. He couldnít get out, and he started sliding sideways to the culvert. I arrived at the culvert at the same instant he did, and made a grab for his head and collar. But he slipped through my hands and disappeared from sight.

About two seconds later he was on the other side, a yellow mass tumbling over the rocks to the rapids at the bottom. The water there churned him up and down like a washing machine. He struggled to the eastern side. I ran to that side, but again a second too late.

He tried to climb out of the foaming water, but slipped back down and disappeared. He must have been pinned under all that current. I stood there in shock. ìThatís the end of Riley,î I said out loud. A mixture of sad and angry thoughts rushed through my mind for about five seconds.

Then Riley popped out of the current like a lost bobber, right at my feet! I stretched out, reached down, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and pulled him up.

We sat in the shallow water right there. Wow. Riley couldnít stand at first, and Iím not sure I could either. Then I carried him to a patch of grass, where he lay for about a minute, panting and looking at me with more than the usual devotion that dogs show their master.

In another minute Riley was on his feet, a little wobbly at first, but soon back to normal and acting as if nothing had happened. Oh, that people had memories like a dog.

Meanwhile my ribs were bruised, and I had a big scrape on my midsection from flailing around after the dog. Riley came out of it better than I did!

I know Riley is just a dog. I would have processed his accidental death and moved on. But now Iíll view his life as a miracle. Iím glad heís a survivor.

And it may sound silly, but I feel we have a bond that wasnít there before. Does he sense it? Who knows. But as I write this at home on Monday morning, Riley is lying five feet away on the office floor. He slept in our bedroom last night too, which is something he rarely does. Maybe he does remember. I know itís something I wonít ever forget.

Just watch your step ñ and your dog ñ at the spillway of the Reno Bottoms. And count your dog blessings while you are at it.

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