He’s pouncing on the edges, watching it respond to him like a living thing, and tearing it into shreds with the focused energy of a dog who has discovered his true calling.

It’s a miracle.

Zane, my eight-year-old, hydrophobic boxer, is a lake dog now. My best friend Brooke and I could hardly care less that he was tearing her mat to shreds. We were both holding back tears of joy. Our plan had worked. What a weekend it had been.

It started, like many good things, with an overpacked bag and a very long drive.

School was out, finally, and I was running on the past-empty fuel tank of a teacher at the end of May. My pink Vera Bradley bag was stuffed with swimsuits, my old sorority t-shirt, and the sunglasses that have somehow survived the past five years of adult life. Zane had his own bag: his Kong, a twisted rope, and the giraffe that was supposed to be my cousin’s birthday present before Zane adopted it as his personal tug-of-war instrument and occasional snuggle buddy.

I also packed enough food to last him an extra week, in case of emergency, power outage, or general apocalypse. It’s Hot Dog Mom Summer, after all. We think of everything.

We were heading to Lake Martin, to the lake house belonging to Debbie and Joe—parents of my best friend Brooke and her sister Julia. The full guest list: Brooke, Julia, their parents, me, Zane (sporting his new UGA collar in anticipation for football season), and Zeke, their new lab puppy who had already demonstrated, in his short life, a complete and fearless love of water. Zane had visited the lake house many times before, and had unfortunately never demonstrated such a love. But Brooke and I had a plan, drafted on the drive, and we were going to fix that.

Night one was a charcuterie board and a sunset boat ride. I fed Zeke and Zane prosciutto under the table and hoped Debbie and Joe were too distracted by their glass of red to notice. Then we loaded onto the boat with a few cocktails, a country playlist, and a stack of blankets. The sunset cruise was a coveted time for visiting humans and canines alike.

Zane assumed his usual position at the bow, completely transformed. There’s something about a boat that gets to him in a way nothing else does. He’s alert and excited for the first ten minutes, paying close attention to every wave, every passing dock, every tree. Then, he settles in next to me and lays his head in my lap with a deep sigh. I smile, thinking about how much more fun the lake is when Zane is here. If only he could love being in the water as much as he loves being above it.

Day two was when our plan got serious. We started slow with a morning walk. Zeke trounced around for two miles in his Auburn collar (we were a house divided, after all). After everyone had eaten and the dogs had napped in the sun with an enviable level of relaxation, it was time. Zane was about to become a lake dog.

Our approach was methodical. Brooke and I walked Zane down the stone steps to where the water started, which he was usually fine with. We’d made it this far with him before. Then we threw a tennis ball a few feet out into the water. He looked at it. He looked at us. He took two steps. We threw it again and he went a few more. We got him up to his knees, which for Zane was the same as summiting Everest.

Then it was time for the hard part.

Brooke and I tried throwing the ball farther, but he merely looked at it inquisitively. We tried coaxing, which he ignored. We tried treats. Julia tried bringing Zeke in to model correct lake behavior, which Zeke executed enthusiastically and Zane observed without interest. We tried everything. And then one of us looked at the lily pad floating at the edge of the dock, and the plan became clear.

The lily pad was a big blue foam mat, the kind that you lay on while it slowly tilts and deposits you back into the lake. It was the immersive water experience. And Zane was about to experience it firsthand.

The mat looked like land. That was the thing. To a dog who has never been fully in water, that blue foam rectangle looks exactly like a very low, slightly bouncy piece of ground. We floated it up against the dock like a ramp, threw his rope toy onto it, and waited.

Zane did not think. He just ran and jumped, and then he was on the mat, and the mat was in the water, and Zane was—technically, if you counted the mat sinking a few inches under his weight—in the lake.

What we expected: panic, a bolt, a dramatic exit back to shore.

What happened: Zane discovered that the mat moved when he moved, and he became completely unhinged with delight. He pounced on it. He watched the waves ripple out from where his paws landed. He pounced again. He was destroying it, pulling it apart piece by piece, and neither Brooke nor I said a single word about it. We were just standing there watching the dog that we both loved experience joy.

Zane caught multiple tennis balls in the water after he finally relinquished the mat. He ran in circles around the yard, leapt bravely from shore, and swam for his toy with the confidence of a dog who had done so a thousand times before. Brooke and I spent at least an hour cleaning up the remnants of the lily pad, laughing at every stray piece we found floating dozens of feet away from its original location. By the time we were ready to head home, we’d accomplished what we came to do. Zane didn’t just love going to the lake anymore. He loved the lake itself.

Watching Zane that afternoon, watching Zeke bark at every wave kicked up by a passing jet ski, and watching the two of them roll around on the morning grass before any of us had fully woken up reminded us all to celebrate the little joys. The wind on the boat. The weight of a good nap in the sun. The specific joy of discovering that the scary thing might actually be the fun thing. Without the two of them there, it would have been a perfectly fine weekend. With them, it was the kind of weekend we would talk about for the rest of the summer.

Brooke and I drove home on Sunday afternoon. Zane was asleep in the backseat within ten minutes, one paw over the edge of the seat, still smelling faintly of lake. Brooke texted me a photo from their family group chat later that night. Julia had managed to get a shot of Zane mid-pounce on the lily pad, ears flying, fully committed. She sent it without comment, and then, a few minutes later: lake life is the best.

Now, Zane knew it, too.

Hey there! I’m Kristen. I grew up in Peachtree City, Georgia, and graduated from the University of Georgia (Go Dawgs!). I now live in Birmingham, Alabama, where I work as a high school English teacher. When I’m not in the classroom, you’ll usually find me reading, writing, playing pickleball, going for a run, traveling somewhere new, or petsitting for friends and family whenever I get the chance. Dogs have always been a big part of my life, and so many of my favorite memories wouldn’t be the same without them. Whether it’s exploring a new place, enjoying a sunny afternoon, or simply relaxing at home, I believe life is always better with a dog around. I’m excited to share some of those memories with you!