The car door peels open after the dreaded two hour drive. Max smells the fresh pine trees and aroma of Lake Camelot, Wisconsin. He scurries out of the grey Chrysler minivan to the lake.  Every movement he makes is important. He cannot waste a single second. His feet reach sweltering cement, then the prickly grass, and finally the mushy sand. He knows what he wants and eager to feel free. The muscles in his body come together to leap as far as God could let him. As his feet leave the dock, a smile creeps upon his face. The sturdy seal of the turquoise lake breaks as his feet reach the crisp water. 

Absorbed in the water, he pops his head out of the icy spring and ventures further for more adventure. His coral-colored tongue flops out of his mouth as he pants, searching for more air. One paw after another, he maneuvers closer to the shore paddling with all four limbs. As he reaches the rocks, he uses his front paws to extract all 78 pounds of himself from the water. His paws fill with sand, covering all wet regions of his body. He proceeds to shake his body quickly, making sure every droplet of water leaves his fur. After he is finished, the cycle starts again; Run, jump, swim, shake, and repeat. 

Two hours pass and he takes his last jump of the day, I notice how tired he actually is. I help him up the rocks, he then lays in the caramel sand and closes his eyes. I tell myself he is thinking about how charming nature is. I tell myself he is thinking about the cool water against his black fur and the warm sun glistening against his eyes. I tell myself he is thinking about the fresh air he is breathing in and the emerald leaves, soon to be auburn. I wish to myself he is thinking about how breathtaking the lake looks in early morning.  

Nonetheless, Max is probably just thinking about dinner.