Andra, Frank and I took a leisurely stroll up to the two lakes called the American Lakes in late September 2000. The terminology is confusing. One of the lakes is also known as Snow Lake, so really there is only one American Lake. The Colorado State Forest also calls them the Michigan Lakes, despite the fact that Michigan Lake is up the road about 10 miles. Who knows? Who cares? What we call the lakes is of no importance to anyone as we crunch the gravel of the trail under stiff-soled hiking boots.

Frankie watches the water ripple, and seems very content to be a dog on this day. Dogs need a life, and Frank lives well, I think. Back at the lower lake some time later, Andra and I throw rocks for Frankie to chase, a favorite activity sinse frisbee became off-limits. Andra finds a thick stick and tosses it just into the lake. Frank cautiously walks in, then goes completely under as he falls off the shelf and into the deep abyss. He spastically splashes his way to the stick and executes a tight u-turn in mid water before paddling back to shore. We throw the stick a few more times, and he seems to enjoy the swimming. His short hair dries quickly on the walk back, although for him the walk back is a constant state of loping along in the wind-blown grass, searching for uncatchable critters.