Lake Rodney We'll walk in the rays of a beautiful sun

The scene before him was idyllic: the birds in the trees, the sun beaming down upon a still lake, not a cloud in the sky. It was hot, just the way he liked it. And the mountain was far behind him. The only thing left to do was — COW-A-BUNGAAA! Dingo shouted as he ran headfirst towards the lakeside, his paws scrambling across the stony ground and pitter-pattering a rocky overhang as his claws connected. As he got to the edge of the overhang his hindquarters thrust down, and he was a leaping ball of golden fur, up until he went splashing with a loud plop in to the lake's depths. The water rushed over his head and he was nowhere to be seen for a good minute — the water sloshed as it consumed him — but then just as it calmed, his blunt snout popped up for air.

He had a big stupid grin on his face as he pulled himself out along the bank, his eyes taking on their usual Brock-squint while his tongue lolled out of his mouth. The water was incredibly refreshing after his perilous adventure down the mountainside. He didn't even think about shaking dry, assuming rather hastily that the bright sun would do the work for him. The boy got to his paws and rounded upon the ledge again, preparing to take off on another cannonball rush while tendrils of lake water dribbled off his wiry body.

Hover over the Spanish for the translation!

Perhaps to the inhabitants of this northern land this weather was hot, but the Mexican was freezing. His thin fur was no match for the slight chills of a northern spring and he suffered, shivering slightly. Ay... He groaned, shaking out his pelt. ¿Cómo se soportar a esa bruja este frío? He muttered to himself, his yellow eyes looking upwards towards the lake ahead. Ah.. He marveled at the sight of the large lake, something he could never get used to in the north. Back in the far off deserts and arid lands of his home a puddle would be fought over desperately before it eventually evaporated. He still was amazed by the vastly different climates, even after spending a year or so in the north. Perhaps it was homesickness.

One thing that still bothered him was swimming. He never learned how to properly swim, still believing water to be too sacred to be desecrated with the body. The sight of a young boy jumping over and over into the water was still new to him, the practice still foreign and strange and downright disgraceful. But these northerners would never know what dehydration truly felt like, would they? That didn't matter to the Mexican right now; he needed information. Information on his lost charge. His disgust he put aside, adopting his usual mask to laidback pleasantry. Mijo! He called out to the young man, striding forward to the water's edge.

He was inches away from leaping once more in to the crisp water, ready to disturb the peace on a moment's notice; but then a call rose up from behind him and Dingo tripped up. He caught himself just as he began to leap, did a little bunny  hop, and then plunged his paws down; he wasn't a great distance from the boulder which was his diving board when he was caught by surprise, so he ended up flattening himself belly-first against it. This caused him to wind himself and then comically slip in to the lake, where he struggled for a few seconds.

What the shit! What the -- I'm drowning! Dingo shrieked and called, tasting the lake water in his mouth as it swept across him. He flailed to try and stay up, and the sensation his limbs brought to the lake (of driving the water over his own face) made him panic more and more. He gasped I can't - he sputtered - die like - and then his body seemed to right itself, flopping over to allow the boy the ability to stand up on his paws — which happened to only be up to his ankles - like this. Oh. His belly ached and his heart was full of ebbing panic, but Dingo realized as he got to his feet that he was safe the whole time. Well lookit that, he murmured, incredulous.

Drowning was a new thing for him too. How could you have too much water? But he knew one thing: it was deadly. And right now, he wasn't keen on killing a boy for no reason, especially when he might have information. The Mexican ran over to the water's edge as the boy yelped in alarm, only to slide to a halt as he stood. Ay, yai yai, mijo. Don't scare people like dat. 'Specially people joo've just met. He strode up to the edge of the lake, an amused smirk crossing his lips. Joo still need help getting out, mijo?

His pelt was a little damp from the struggle, but that would soon be remedied by the sunlight. He lifted himself up properly and gingerly exited the water, as if nothing weird had happened or anything. The stranger's voice carried over to him and he blew a small raspberry. Pfffft! Help! I didn't need help, dude, I got this. And who was Mee-ho anyway? Maybe the guy was losing his marbles. That was called acting. Get it? I was playin'. Except there was still a frightful spike to his short fur, and his tail was puffed out like a cat's, and his haunches quivvered a little with excess adrenaline. But you know... Acting.

What the crap is a Mee-ho anyway? Because that ain't me, ho! Thinking he was the most hilarious person alive for making such an astute pun, Dingo began to laugh and snort obnoxiously, his wet tail wagging and tossing water drops everywhere.