I've never had a near death experience - not one involving my own life at least - but, this past Thursday evening, I experienced one which involved the life our little dog, Poppy. I rescued her from a hole in the ice on our lake. She's fine. We came very close to losing her though.

We drove up Thursday afternoon, fought through one of the busiest shopping days of the year and arrived around 7.30pm in fine clear weather. The road was in surprisingly good shape. We were set for a sunny long weekend. What could be better? We warmed up the cottage and ate around 9pm - our usual "Friday night" routine. I went out to prime the pump at the side of the cottage around 10.20pm. Siobhan let the 2 dogs out shortly afterward. Sally is terrified of the ice and will not go near it in uncertain conditions but Poppy, the 12 year old Westie, has no instinctive sense of danger about ice or about anything else. She usually does not venture far, and especially not in colder weather and especially not at night.

As I finished priming and turned on the pump to fill the water heater, I thought I heard splashing from the other side of the bay at our deep water dock but there are otters and ducks active as the ice melts away from the shore and then I saw Sally walk by me and she could easily have gone in the water as well but my radar sensed nothing out of the ordinary. Siobhan came out a minute or so later and asked if I had seen Poppy. Thinking that she was inside, I asked if she was sure that Poppy was outside. She has a remarkable ability to find little corners to hide in so she was probably inside. We did a quick search and saw no sign of her. I walked down to the dock to see if she was poking around underneath as she sometimes does and then I heard the noise. A grunting noise coming from across the bay but I could see nothing in the dark. I thought that it was an owl or another bird. There are lots of critters around. Siobhan heard it too. The first thing she said was "That's not Poppy". Later, she realized that she had never heard Poppy's distress noises. Westies are known for their ability to "talk" by using a variety of intonations in their voices as they "ask" for treats or a snuggle. This was a low pitched, plaintive sound - like no other we had ever heard from her.

After a bit more searching with a flashlight, I was getting concerned. Poppy is small, old and vulnerable and we are usually well aware of her whereabouts but she has nowhere to be seen. A subconscious instinct of some kind told me to run over toward the sound that this creature was making - if only to rule it out. I sprinted the 200 metres through the snow, made my way down onto the neighbours dock, shined the light out onto the lake and there she was with her front paws clinging to the ice and her little black eyes peering at me. She had fallen into a hole in the ice about 15 feet from the dock in deep water. The ice had melted, in the usual way, about 3 or 4 feet from the shore but she was another 10 feet beyond that - in a hole in the thicker ice - and she was barely hanging on. The grunting noise was very faint now as about 15 minutes had passed from when I first heard the splashing. I was convinced that she was only a minute or two from death. I yelled to Siobhan as I paced back and forth wondering how this rescue could be done without risking my own life. She arrived and screamed when she saw her precious little dog near death. I told her to calm down and hold the light. Wearing hiking shoes, sweat pants and a t-shirt, I went in. I could touch bottom for the first 4 feet or so, then it was deep water after that. I had to break a channel through the ice with my arms (and I've got the bruises and scrapes to show for it) to get to her. It was weak ice and broke away easily and I punched through in a few seconds. When I reached her, I pushed her back toward the shore as I struggled with the heavy clothing I was wearing. Her almost lifeless body was barely floating and her nose went beneath the water for a second. I got her to the dock and Siobhan grabbed her. I got out and took Poppy back. We wrapped Siobhan's jacket around her and ran back to the warm cottage. When I put her on the floor in front of the woodstove, she was completely seized up from the cold and could not stand. Siobhan wrapped her in a dry towel and held her there. For the next 45 minutes, she made the same grunting noise that she was making from the ice. With every breath she took, she breathed in and exhaled with that grunt until it got a little stronger and louder and then it finally stopped. It was two full hours until she was warm and dry. I recalled later that I didn't feel the cold at all. With the adrenaline rush, it just didn't register. I sat down and had 2 ounces of scotch. We stayed up until after 1am, reflecting, rejoicing and processing this event.

Dogs have memories. They recognize people they know. They remember places they have been and experiences they have had. I don't think that their brains are capable of reflection, however, because, as soon as Poppy was fully warmed up, she was absolutely normal in every respect. She ate a treat. She went out and peed. She curled up in front of the fire as she has done so may times before as the two of us regained our composure, recounted our luck and talked through the guilt of not having recognized the suffering sound earlier than we did. It was a close call. Very close. 15 minutes in the icy water with a body that small is about at the survival limit. Poppy, on the other had, seemed oblivious to the trauma she had just endured. Dogs live in the present. This is where I am right now. No point in wondering what might happen in the future or in looking back on events from the past - no matter how significant. We were still shaking. She was sound asleep.

What a spectacular weekend in Muskoka. Sunny every day. Good mountain biking and running. We took the ABS canoe to the Muskoka River on Saturday afternoon and paddled for the first time in 2009. We are thankful for so much. We are lucky to have our little dog still with us. Her time almost came.