Saturday, October 17, 2009

Goin' Fishin'

I needed to do some work next to a stream one day, so I took Desert Boy and Henry with me, knowing how much they like water. We had to walk across the stream, so I had Desert Boy dressed in irrigating boots. He decided he wanted to keep playing by the stream and use a little white bucket to catch some fish.

So, me being a mother who wants to encourage her son to be creative and not really caring how dirty he gets, hatched a plan. I took off his pants and socks, thinking that he would surely flood his boots, and this way he would stay dry. And I had neglected to bring a change of clothes for him with me (although we did have a coat in the truck). 

I watched Desert Boy's first attempt at catching fish. He scooped the bucket through the water, being fairly careful where he was walking.

And then he poured the bucket out. I'm not quite sure what he would have done if he had actually caught a fish in the bucket, but I figured the chances of that were extremely slim. 

Seeing his first attempt wasn't too successful, he headed back to shore to regroup. This is where the fun really began. And I didn't manage to get photos of any of it.

He did a few more scoops with the bucket, flooded his boots, and then wanted the water out of his boots. Then he headed back into the water--and you've probably guessed it--fell in, soaking his only dry shirt. He decided at this point he didn't want to fish anymore. So it was time to get him to the truck, put on his dry pants and his coat, and let him warm up. 

So his first fishing expedition didn't go too well, but he did have a lot of fun playing in the water until he got soaked and cold. Almost anytime we go near a stream he wants to get in, but he knows he's not supposed to get his shoes wet. So he sits down on the ground and starts tugging on his shoes and socks. If he won't get his shoes wet, surely he can go in?


The Incredible Woody said...

Sounds logical to me!

jendoop said...

I remember the first time I went fishing on a ranch. My cousins and I loaded in the truck and then I noticed there were no fishing poles. This city girl was treated to the same type of fishing Desert Boy tried. Well, mostly I stood back and watched as they caught enough fish for dinner. The creek was drying up and had left a bunch of fish trapped in a giant puddle.

Dessert Survivor said...

Your story suggests that our predator genes start manifesting themselves at 2.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...

blogger templates