Somehow Angel and Randy became fixtures over the Winter months, and we slowly grew to be friends. And then one morning in late February, the worse possible thing happened - I discovered Randy having a seizure, and 911 whisked him away to the hospital; leaving me looking at a confused Angel. What choice did I have - I took her home.

At first, baby-sitting Angel went fairly smoothly - but it became clear that she had never been alone, spending 24/7 with her human companion. Whenever left alone, anxiety occurred and some nearby item got chewed to shreds; the wood door outside my office, my deck's step, and the rubber seal around my truck window. Needless to say I became concerned when Monday came - after all: Monday is my day off to go fishing!!!

I dare say, I have on a rare occasion given up my sacred day of fishing to attend a funeral, but go cold-turkey for a dog? Never! And yet, unless I wanted my house to end up looking like it was attacked by beavers, I would have to have to take Angel the "Canine Chainsaw" with me. Whoopee... I could hardly wait.

Angel rode well in the car, her head in my lap. But arriving at the boat ramp, she stubbornly decided that walking along an icy dock was not an option. I looked both ways, and seeing no one, pretended she was a sled, and dragged her to my Lund. Like it or not, Angel was going fishing!

Surprisingly, once in the boat, Angel did very well. Every corner of the boat was carefully sniffed, and as we cruised down the lake she allowed me to cover her with a blanket so the icy cold could not penetrate her thin coat. Once we'd arrived, she followed me to the bow to inspect the electric trolling motor. As she turned to sniff my rods, I startled her with a stern warning to stay away from them lest she discover the treble hooks of the attached crankbaits. She was a smart dog, and I was sure she understood.

I was wrong! Three seconds after I turned my back, Angel yelped and G. Loomis rods began flying across the deck. As my heart came back down from my throat, I discovered a Fat Free Shad missing the belly hook, and Angel cowering in the back of the boat wearing the wide-gap treble in her upper lip.

With dikes in hand I approached her nervously, wondering if she perceived me as friend or foe. Several minute later I knew what the mouse must have felt like when she pulled the thorn from the lion's paw: relieved! Needless to say, she avoided the rods for the rest of the day.

Perhaps the most interesting discovery was her interest in my catches. Every fish was welcomed into the boat with tail wagging and licking. But it became apparent that throwing the fish back into the water was not considered by Angel to be a good thing! I only just grasped her collar before she attempted to retrieve her lost treasure. From that point on I had to hide the fish behind my back, so as to block her view of the release.

She also objected to marker buoys being thrown over board. Having a piece of my lunch readily available seemed to be the best distraction when marking structure. Being sneaky had never been a part of my fishing routine. It was now.

When Angel decides it's time to play, she expects everyone to oblige. But serious fishing and playing with a canine doesn't mix. So when I caught a small perch by accident, I suspected I had found a likely playmate. Throwing it in the live-well I left the lid up. Sure enough, Angel discovered a new game "Bobbing for perch".

The game had been entertaining her for around 45 minutes, when I suddenly noticed it had gone quiet in the boat. I turned around to discover that Angel had successfully caught and then scaled the perch with her front teeth. Scales covered my boat from one end to the other. Still, she might be handy when cleaning fish...

Bass angling with a one-year-old Pitbull/Chow mix has a major affect on a man's fishing. During the day, there are several "time outs" necessary to walk her at lakeside parks, (after all, the scales on the carpet are more than enough unwelcome surprises). Cleaning up spilled dog food, and explaining that fishing gloves are not chew toys tends to keep you busy. But she added a new twist to my angling, and even tempted me to test her theory that naps and fishing really DO go together.

I'm happy to say that Randy is better now. Three fishing Mondays have come and gone, but finally dog and master are reunited. And while I can't believe I'm saying this, I'm a little sad to say that I'll spend my next Monday without my tail wagging friend. (Maybe my old fishing partner Larry will... naw, that would never work - bad idea.) Anyway, I'm gonna miss her. After all, not many fishermen can say they have had, nor caught an Angel in their boat.