Stories for Bryar Wesley's Sanctuary

Onyx and I grew up swimming. When we were young, Dad lived at a place called The Pier in Clemson. There was a lake right there, and we were in it constantly. And I mean constantly. Onyx and I probably went swimming at least twice a week. Every month or so, Dad would get in with us too. This usually resulted in Onyx trying to play with him by latching onto him in the water and nearly drowning him. That will become ironic later. Then, when I was a little over one and Onyx was about two, we moved to Denver. Denver does not have a lake outside our house. There is water around, but apparently Dad has a strong preference for taking us places where there aren't other dogs everywhere. In Clemson, that was easy. We did all kinds of things off leash because we could find places where nobody else was around. In Denver, Dad says this is considerably more difficult. So we didn't swim much anymore. That's okay, though. Years went by. Then, sometime around 2023 or 2024, Dad finally took us swimming again. It was a creek. Not quite our lake, but we'd take it. Onyx immediately acted like he'd never left Clemson. He galloped through the water. He splashed. He swam. He ran back in. I remembered how to swim too. Most of the creek was pretty shallow. We could walk and run through it, with a few places deep enough to actually swim. Dad had left our leashes attached to us. He knew we would probably be fine without them, but things are different here. There are more people. More dogs. Fewer places where we can be completely alone. So our leashes floated along behind us while Dad kept watching to make sure they didn't get caught on a branch. I was swimming. Everything was fine. Then I found the one spot that wasn't shallow. My feet disappeared out from under me. Okay. No problem. I know how to swim. I turned around to go back. Except I didn't go back. I paddled. Nothing. I paddled harder. Still nothing. Apparently, I had managed to swim directly into a deeper pocket where the current was moving differently. I wasn't going underwater. But I couldn't get out. I kept paddling. The shore stayed exactly where it was. I turned toward Dad. He noticed. "OH MY GOD, B!" Dad started moving. I kept paddling. Then Onyx ran past him. Straight toward me. He hit the water and kept coming. The creek got deeper. His legs disappeared. Then his body disappeared beneath the water and he started swimming. Toward me. Dad realized what he was doing. "YEAH, BUBBY! GET IT!" Onyx swam up beside me. He wasn't trying to grab me. He was trying to grab something floating on the surface behind me. My leash. He opened his mouth. Missed. Dad yelled again. "YOU'RE SO GOOD, BUBBY!" Onyx tried again. This time, he got it. My leash was in his mouth. He turned around. And started swimming back to shore. I came with him. The current wasn't holding me anymore. The water got shallower. My feet found the bottom. I was okay. My brother had pulled me out. Nobody told him to. Dad didn't say, "Onyx, go get Bryar." He didn't tell him to grab my leash. Onyx just saw me struggling and came. Which, if you know my brother, probably isn't surprising. He can be ridiculous. He once covered himself and Dad's entire bedroom in flour. His preferred method of swimming with Dad used to involve putting Dad's own survival at risk. But when something is actually wrong, Onyx knows. And that day, before Dad could even reach me, my brother did. I don't know how he knew what to do. I just know that when I couldn't get myself back to shore, Onyx came and got me. But there's still one thing I don't understand. I had just had a life-threatening experience... and somehow Onyx was getting more attention than me for once. Unbelievable.